


A Good Example

by myoldlodger



Category: Parks and Recreation, The Good Place (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:28:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24318823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myoldlodger/pseuds/myoldlodger
Summary: While everyone else moved on from small town Pawnee, Indiana, Jean-Ralphio Saperstein stayed behind, continuing to do what he always did. He was perfectly happy that way, and was definitely not lonely at all. However, his quest to rekindle his friendship with Tom was cut short in an unforeseen and only slightly comical accident. Now, Jean-Ralphio finds himself in a strange world that is way more exciting than Pawnee, The Good Place, where he is told that everything is going to be fine.
Comments: 20
Kudos: 23





	1. Getting Old

“Hey-ooooo, Tommy T, in comes a voice message from your favorite OG… friend.. [pause] ...I’ve been working on that one like you said. Soooo, I’m dropping you this message ‘cause I think it has been way super long since you and I had a reunion. I know you’re hella busy with all those crazy book deals and your hot wife and those ballers down in DC, but don’t forget where your real homies are at! For serious, man, I miss you. What happened to the good times when you and I used to hit the town together? Didja see that video I posted on Facebook? That had to be one of our Top Ten Best Tom and Jean-Ralphio moments in 2011. Fo’ sho’. [pause] Oop, I think the thing’s ‘bout to cut out, hold on uno momento- [cuts out].”

“Sorry about that, you got a way short time limit on your voicemails, dude. Might as well just call me back or something so I can hit you up for realsies. Like I was saying, we have got to meet up like old times. Lucky for me, I’m still fluuuu-uuuu-uuushed with cash from the lawsuit. I could treat us to something nice. Guess what? An Applebee’s just opened up downtown! We could be [begins singing] Eatin’ goooooood in the neighborhoooood [stops singing]. You remember that commercial? [laughs] … Please call me back. [cuts out].”

“It’s ya boy again. Are you not getting these or something? I heard you were gonna be in town soon. That’s dope! I know you’re probably gonna be dying in the old office, so hit me up, give me a call, shoot me a text... [long pause] Please.”

End recording. Jean-Ralphio was sprawled on the cold floor of his still mostly unfurnished living room somewhere in Pawnee, Indiana. The year was 2020-something and Tom still wasn’t hollering at ya boy, as the ancient proverb goes. He heard that the whole Parks crew was going to get together tonight for a little friendsiversary party or something, and because he was neither a member of the Parks and Recreation department nor even slightly friends with anyone who was save for his number one BBFL (best bro for life), Tom, he was not invited. 

After he was no longer entertained by the sound of his own voice, the only noise which could be heard in the echoey halls were the incessant tapping of his feet against the hardwood flooring, and the distant sound of Freaks by Timmy Trumpet playing through his most reliable friend, Alexa, propped on top of three books and a cardboard box. Oh, how he wished he could be eating good in the neighborhood right now.

The bass and the tweeters make the speakers go to war  
Ah, the mighty trumpet brings the freaks out to the floor  
The bass and the tweeters make the speakers go to war  
Ah, the mighty trumpet brings the freaks out to the floor

As the prose of Timmy Trumpet echoed through the empty, lonely house, he thumped his arm against the ground to imitate that one Vine that was popular in the before times. Rest in peace, Vine, you will always be missed. Truthfully, he used to like this kind of music unironically, but he just wasn’t in the mood to slam the oven door OR play the trombone.

He rolled over onto his stomach and reached for the remote, simultaneously yelling, “Alexa! Kill the beats!” To which she did not respond. “Alexa… stop.” He added a touch more dejectedly.

He decided to see what old media had to offer. Switching through the local Pawnee news stations, it was the same old everything. Joan Callamezzo, Perd Hapley, reruns of Johnny Karate - he was still upset he never got tapped for a cameo. Finally, of course, there was the news. Honestly, unless that hot weather lady was on he did not give a fuck. 

Tragedy struck a family in Indianapolis today- 

“Snooze. C’mon, Stacy, you know what we really wanna see.” He clicked the menu button. “Let’s see what’s on Netflix…” Ba-bum. Oh, the familiar noise of the Netflix home screen.

It was a show about a woman, he deduced, somewhere mid season (he did not remember watching it that far) who had, he guessed, died and gone to heaven. Blah, blah, ethics, good people, something something learning to be a better person. He was absolutely sure that this was all it was about and that there were no plot twists or meanings beyond the surface value. This kind of media usually went over Jean-Ralphio’s head. He didn’t need his mindless entertainment to preach to him about what it meant to be a good person. He was perfectly fine being a totally shit one. Not everyone had to go through growth and arcs. Sometimes there were people in the world who stayed exactly how they were their entire life and never, ever changed, and he was perfectly happy like that. 

Yes, Jean-Ralphio was thriving exactly where he was. In an empty, echoey house somewhere in Pawnee, Indiana. He was happy living alone and eating turkey chili out of a frisbee, squatting on his hardwood floor, unvacuumed and uncarpeted. He was content with constantly unlit notification symbols on his favorite social medias, and also his least favorites. He didn’t mind that Tom never called him back anymore. He didn’t mind that the only person who did was his sister. He didn’t mind that the last few knocks on his door were debt collectors and unfamiliar faces from a Parks Department he no longer recognized. Everyone moved on from Pawnee, in one way or another. Or, they moved on from their old lives, and were thriving in new ones. Book deals, hot wives, the ballers in DC. Then there was Jean-Ralphio, who was happy the way he was, and wasn’t lonely at all.

Maybe if he talked to someone he’d feel better.

Click.

“Heeeeeey, twin brother from the same mother, I’m an eensy bit busy at the mo’ so you’re gonna have to make this quick, okays?”

“What up? Things are a total snooze-fest over here at Chateau de Saperstein, so I thought you and I could go to Applebee’s or someth-”

Miss Saperstein, please remove yourself from the vehicle.

“Uhhh, I’m like, really really really sorry or whatever but I’m gonna have to go right now immediately. Okay bye-bye!”

“Whaaaat? Are you getting pulled over?”

“Byeeeee!”

“Hey, hey, Mona-Lisa, you-”

Click.

He was pretty sure he felt like, one-hundred times worse.

There had to be a trick to getting out of this slump. Jean-Ralphio had never let bad vibes weigh him down, and he wasn’t about to start. If Tom was going to play the waiting game, he just had to prove to him how serious he was about rekindling their friendship. Jean-Ralphio and Tommy T were going to have the biggest, baddest, most spectacular reunion. That, he thought, was most definitely the secret to getting out of this funk. If he could go back to the way things were, everything would be better. Yes, he was a creature of habit. 

Most of Jean-Ralphio’s ideas were ill-advised and usually ended up in failure or injury, but this particular scheme was not for monetary gain. This con was not tricking someone into paying him upfront, this was about conning someone into spending some time with him. 

He peeled himself off of the floor and checked his reflection in his darkened television screen, taming the beast which was his hair ever so slightly, and doing a set of finger guns at his own reflection. He’d date him. Luckily, he felt he was already looking pretty fly (for a white guy), his usual colorful blazer and loudly printed scarf combo equipped. He closely inspected his face for a little longer than usual, feeling at his cheeks which had started to feel heavier than they used to, lines forming under his eyes. He ran a few fingers through his hair, noticing just by the corners, right above each ear… the tiniest dusting of grey. Suddenly, he felt sick, so he stopped looking at himself immediately.

Now, although he was able to afford a large spacious abode on the formerly Eagletonian side of Pawnee, Jean-Ralphio was still hitting the town in the same pre-owned Acura Legend he offered up to Tom and Donna a few years back, and the thing was getting pretty janky. Lucky for him he was able to legally drive again (loopholes, baby!), unlucky for him, he was stuck listening to the car radio. He began to fiddle with the buttons, hoping to hit something that could fill the void. Sometimes, when the music wasn’t on, he couldn’t help but feel a little empty. Wasn’t there a song about that or something? He was specifically, however, looking for some tunes that were not about how lonely he was.

bzzzzt...crackle … 

Don’t talk of love  
Well, I’ve heard the word before  
It’s sleeping in my memory  
And I won’t disturb the slumber  
Of feelings that have died  
If I never loved, I never would have cried

I am a rock  
I am an island

He turned the radio off, unlocked his phone, and left another voicemail. 

“What is up Haverford-focus, I know… it’s ya boy again, just dropping a message to let you know I’m swinging by the old stomping grounds, thought we could catch up like old times. Talk to you soon, mi compadre.” He finished the call off with a few kissing sounds, and shoved the phone back into his pocket. 

The drive wasn’t very long, just across town. Technically, across towns, since he lived in former Eagleton these days, but even so the drive around small town Indiana was so mind numbingly familiar that he hardly ever noticed the distance anymore. Either that, or it was the pills he took earlier kicking in. He parked across the street.

After Tom left for their ultimately failed Passion Project Entertainment 720, neither he nor Tom spent very long at all in the hallowed halls of Pawnee’s own City Hall, but he drove by it every day, and it still had some fond memories attached to it. To be fair, most of his memories were fond. Each one of them was filtered with this golden, warm haze. Was that nostalgia? Or the pills he took earlier kicking in?

Underneath a darkening sky, sometime that evening in Pawnee, Indiana, City Hall, Jean-Ralphio Saperstein pushed through familiar doors, phone in pocket, a forever dopey smile on his face, but the scene he walked in on when he reached the Parks and Recreation department was not so familiar. He was immediately shoved (slightly) aside by a seemingly never-ending chain of children who circled around what used to be April’s desk and out into the hall. 

“Whoa, watch it, little homies-” He realized, blinking somewhat slowly, that he totally didn’t know whose children those were. Sure, he got a lot of baby-related gossip from his father when he was still living at the house, but he still didn’t know… because these people weren’t his friends.

“Ew.” Speaking of Satan’s daughter, Jean-Ralphio was immediately met with dark brown, upcast eyes. “How did you get in here? I thought you died in Tajikistan or whatever.” April Ludgate-Dwyer, for one, had not changed a bit since the last time they spoke. 

“Yo, Mona-Lisa never told you? That whole thing was a scam to get hella life insurance money.” And honestly, he was proud of it. “Too bad we got caught, haha!”

“That really sucks.” She kept her permanent frown, looking him over without the slightest bit of remorse or grief. Why should she? He was a creep, he was a weirdo, what the hell was he doing here? “Dying was the coolest thing you ever did.” She rammed the currently empty baby stroller at her hands over his toe as she called out to Andy, currently unseen. 

With a slightly sore foot he meandered on over to his third favorite former nurse at Pawnee hospital with brown hair. “Damn, what’s happening, boo? I haven’t seen you since you moved to - where did you move to? That’s not- that’s not a joke, I legitimately have no idea where you went.”

“Oh my god,” Ann scrunched up her face, “First of all,” She held a red solo cup filled with Sprite in one hand, and used the other free hand to point at him with her manicured finger. “Don’t call me boo, second of all, we barely even know each other! And third of all, how did you get in here? And fourth of all-”

“Nah, I get it.” He raised a hand up in defeat. “I get it, I get it. Look, fam, I just need you to point me in the direction of-”

“Is he bothering you, Ann?” Asked the man of steel, Chris Traeger, and although he asked such an accusatory question, he still had his near constant smile on his face. “Oh!” He said fondly, pointing his finger towards him. Chris made a habit of remembering everyone’s name by pointing at them whenever they entered a room and saying their full name. However, with his even more immaculately taken care of finger, his mind was drawing a blank. “Tom’s friend!”

“Yeah, uh, actually it’s Jean-Ralphio.” 

Chris withdrew his point and reshot it, “Jean-Ralphio! You’re Dr. Saperstein’s son, right?” He radiated this magical energy like a beautiful land-dwelling Atlantean god, and with a hand on his elegant semi-aquatic siren goddess’ shoulder, he looked simultaneously sentimental and a lot like someone who is just smiling to be polite. Maybe because he was.

Jean-Ralphio never knew how to answer that question. “Yeah, yeah, I’m the guy who-”

“We know.” Ann cut him off, tugging lightly on Chris to follow her elsewhere. “Nice seeing you again, or… not. Actually, I don’t think it was nice, but…” Whatever she was going to say fizzled out, as he couldn’t think of a polite word to describe the awkward interaction they just had, and she left off with an unenthusiastic set of finger guns and a cringe as soon as she turned away.

“Heeeey, O-Meagle, how’s it hanging?”

“Keep walking.”

“No, no, that’s fair. That’s fair. You made the right decision.”

Jean-Ralphio sauntered on over to the food table where Leslie no doubt set up all kinds of cute little finger snacks. Directly across the table was the bumbling but kindhearted- … you know what? Despite the man now being the Mayor of Pawnee, Jean-Ralphio didn’t actually know his first name. Something Gergich… Mayor… Harry, Larry, Barr… Unsure, he just guessed. “G to the A to the Double R Y, if it isn’t our fearless Mayor givin’ bacon wrapped weenies a try!”

Garry smiled fondly. “Oh! You know, usually people don’t remember my-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait a second.” He gave a small slap to Garry’s chest. “Dude, dude, did you hear that? I ended on the rhyme!” He pumped his fist in the air. “Thanks, Mr. Mayor! See you on the flipside!” He plucked a bacon wrapped weenie from Garry’s paper plate and took it as a takeaway, never letting Mayor Gergich get another word in edgewise. 

Jean-Ralphio very excitedly latched on to the next shoulder he could find to break the revolutionary news, but he was immediately met with a deadpan, gruff voice, “Step aside, son.” And Jean-Ralphio respected Mr. Swanson’s request, because the last time he made the mistake he got his finger nearly snapped. 

Onwards he went, hoping to find himself some kind of connection by the time the party fizzled out. He stopped in his tracks. Faced away from him, having a brief chat with her hot congressman husband, there was Leslie Knope. “Whoa, Leslie, it’s been way too long, shorty! How’s it been hanging? I’ve missed your face!”

Ben interjected, “Hey, Leslie, did you invite this guy?” He had this permanently sort of scowly expression when he was concerned. Or always. Maybe it was always. 

“No, I-...” Leslie turned around, smiling awkwardly up at Jean-Ralphio. “Jean-Ralphio…” Her tone was warm, but it was clear she would rather be talking to literally anyone else. “It’s been… well, not long enough, I think.” She gently gave a pat on each side of his arms, her touch lingering just slightly, but there was an apologetic look in her eyes. She remembered the last time they had a full conversation. It was when she left Pawnee for good all those years ago. She remembered it being every bit as weird and awkward then as it was now, but there was something she told him all that time ago that almost made her pity him. Almost. “How’ve you been? You look good.” She pulled away and gestured to her husband, “Ben, sweetie, can you get me another Sprite Cranberry?”

“Sure thing.” Ben did as requested, but he didn’t keep his eyes off of the two until he was out of earshot. 

“Seriously, how’ve you been?” Leslie asked again, “I’m actually kinda-sorta concerned. First we hear you died in a freak snowmobiling accident, then you’re in Tajikistan? Then you keep airing those commercials posting your phone number for strangers to call, and there was that thing I saw on Facebook… it was all kind of weird and needy.” She leaned in a little bit. “Is this a cry for help? Are you like, okay?”

He waved it off dismissively. “Whaaat? Me? I couldn’t be better! I am still flooded with dolla dollas after the lawsuit and I got a super big mansion all to myself! I’m stacked, I’m solid, I’m set. No need to worry about me, shortstuff, I am a-okay.” He booped her nose, grin still plastered on his face.

Usually, Leslie would feel totally demeaned and objectified by being booped by a man who wasn’t her husband, but Jean-Ralphio always seemed to give off this dog-like carefree energy that, if she didn’t kind of hate him, she’d find sort of endearing. The gesture was met with a moment or two of uncomfortable silence, and she knew full well that he was not okay. At least, not as stacked or solid or set as he said he was. But what was she supposed to do? She didn’t like him. She didn’t like him back. She didn’t know him. Even if he had said he was struggling with… whatever it is privileged assholes like him struggle with, what was she supposed to do? Now wasn’t the time or the place to have an intervention, or even a heart-to-heart. He was an adult. He should have been able to handle himself. God, he was almost forty, right? And here he was acting like the same old annoying twenty-something she met him as. 

She thought about that question she asked him once. Why are you like this? And he, back then, had enthusiastically replied in his usual sing-song manner, Pills, baby! Too bad it took her like, eight years to be worried about that statement. Or maybe she had been worried about that statement for eight years. “Look, Jean-Ralphio, I know there must be… something going on with you, so - I can’t believe I’m doing this…” She ripped a small piece of paper from a tiny notepad kept in her pocket, and scrawled onto it with a pen. She flicked it towards him, and he snatched it from her hand. “That’s my phone number. Call me if you need anything.” She nodded and began to walk off before he could make some comment about her coming on to him. 

“Hey, Leslie, wait-” That call was surprisingly genuine, as his hand brushed her sleeve, and she turned slightly to look at him. “Thanks.” He said. It was smaller than any word he’d ever said. 

She reached a hand up to his shoulder and patted it gently, before turning away again.

He safely pocketed the paper, and turned around to face just the man he’d been looking for. 

“Wh- Jean-Ralphio? What the hell are you doing here? This party’s for Parks Department veterans only, dude.” Tom wore glasses now, to signify that time had passed. 

“Come on, man. You didn’t call me back so I thought I’d stop by to see how the old co-workers are doing, and to see my for sure favorite homie in the entire world, dog. I’m digging the new look, bro, is that Gucci?”

“No, you come on, man. I told you to stop flooding my inbox. That phone’s for business calls only.” Tom was clearly already annoyed, but even he couldn’t really figure out why. This guy was allegedly his best friend, his homie, his heterosexual life partner, but as soon as the guy approached him all Tom wanted to do was shut him down and walk away. Is this how people used to feel about him?

“Don’t be like that, we hardly talk anymore! I don’t want us to drift apart like in the movies. We gotta keep a connection! I know you’re busy and all, but there’s no way you are too busy for me. Let’s go, Applebee’s just opened up. We’ll be-” He brought his hand to the side of his face, as he often did for emphasis, and sang rather loudly with a lot of inflection and tone, “Eat goooooooooooooooooood in the neighborhoooooooooood!”

That was the exact moment that it clicked in Tom’s head. He didn’t like him anymore. Him and Jean-Ralphio had nothing in common. Now that Tom was successful and savvy with the crazy book deals, a hot wife, and those ballers down in DC he realized then and there that he didn’t need Jean-Ralphio anymore. This friendship was just holding him back to a town that was behind him. If Jean-Ralphio wasn’t going to grow up now, he wasn’t going to grow up ever, and he didn’t need him. Wordlessly, Tom pushed past Jean-Ralphio and headed for the door. He was going to dip before things got too heated.

But Jean-Ralphio trailed behind him, intent on following him out. “Great idea! Let’s blow this joint. Are we goin’ to Applebee’s?”

Within moments they were outside, through the arches and down the steps and to the street in front of the City Hall building, and both were greeted with the cold night air.

“No I went outside so I could catch some air. I need a minute away from you, man.”

“What do you mean you need a minute? You’ve had like a billion minutes without me!”

“Look, maybe this is it. It’s been real, but I have a life now. Like a real life.” But at the same time, it hurt. Like, it really did, to set aside and abandon that part of his life. Same old Tom. He didn’t like to take the high road. This was the high road. “You remember when you called me after my first book and you asked me why you weren’t included in the Seven Types of Successful People? It’s ‘cause you aren’t a successful people.”

“You’re dumping me ‘cause I’m a failure?” 

“I’m not dumping you, and that’s not what I mean. I mean… all my other friends moved on to bigger and better things, and went out and did what was coolest for them, and they grew up. I grew up. I used to never wanna do the right thing, but now I got stuff to worry about. Real stuff. You’re almost forty and you wanna go to Applebee’s. You’re almost forty and you still do that weird thing with your hand where you sing-talk and shout in everyone’s ears! I always hated that!”

“You’ve… always… hated that?”

“Yeah! And no matter what stupid illegal stuff your sister does you still act like it’s all okay. She told me you were dead three years ago. You think that’s something I can just… brush off and totally forgive? Remember how she stole money from the cash register and set the bathroom trash can on fire ‘cause I wouldn’t let her skip work? You remember how she tricked me into thinking she was pregnant because she wanted to keep dating me?”

“Okay, I recognize she’s the worst person in the world, but I dunno what this has to do with me-”

“What I’m saying is that you still think all the stuff you guys used to pull back in the day is okay and cool. It’s not cool anymore. It got old. And I’m done. So… unless you wanna get your shit together, don’t try and call me again, don’t try and message me again, don’t show up at my house… just don’t. Got it?”

“No, I more than got it! I understand one-hundred-and-ten percent! You don’t need me anymore!” For the very first time in a very long time, Tom could see something other than blind exuberance from his former best friend, but it wasn’t what he’d hoped to see. No, Jean-Ralphio was royally pissed off for once, and he backed up and off of the sidewalk, ready to make a break for his car. “Well, don’t worry about it, man! I don’t need you either! I’m gonna blow up, even way more bigger than you did, and then you’ll be sorry!”

“Jean-Ralphio.”

“Don’t you ‘Jean-Ralphio’ me! We’re so not friends you don’t even get to call my by my first name! When I make it big it’s gonna be Mr. Saperstein to you!”

“Jean-Ralphio…”

“The hell did I just say? I’m serious, man! One day you’re gonna wake up and I’ll be rolling in cash and no one’ll ever buy your stupid books that don’t even mention your best friend once! Mark my words, I got a future ahead of me!”

“Jean-Ralphio!” Tom lunged forward in a flurry of Gucci and sequins, but he was just a millisecond too late. 

This hadn’t been the first time this happened. In fact, number-wise, this was the third time. First a Lexus, then a Porsche, and now…

The sound of a car going just a little bit too fast in town colliding against an adult human body is never a pleasant one, but even more unsettling was the thing totally skidding off before the primary witness could even catch a glimpse of a license plate. 

The bumpy Pawnee asphalt was cold and rough, and the breeze picked up, a chill filling the air. However, he was not cold, no, his body felt searing hot. The stars were out, by now, but his vision was directly aligned with the looming figure of that weird man-gargoyle thing perched atop the arches, and it stared down back at him. He could hear a flurry of footsteps darting down the steps at the entrance, and a few voices he could only sort of make out. 

Leslie. “Tom? What happened? We heard a-” The words caught in her throat. 

“Oh my god.” Ben was there, slightly behind her, already whipping out his cellphone and dialing 911. 

It didn’t feel real, this scene unfolding in front of him. Not just because all the faces around him were concerned and serious and so unlike anything he was used to seeing, but because the world had this strange, foggy haze over it, like he was watching it all from underwater. 

“Hey. Hey. Can you hear me?” 

A hand was grasping at his shoulder, shaking him gently. Tommy T. 

“Come on, you can’t let your last words be that ironic, you gotta pull through, buddy. Jean-Ralphio. J-Dawg.”

Ben’s voice was from a few feet away. “Yeah, we have uh- God, uh… what appears to be some kind of hit and run. We need an ambulance like, right now, immediately. Right in front of City Hall.” 

After that, the voices all began to fade in and out, including Tom’s, which was closest of all. He had a future ahead of him, he thought, just before the imagery was darkening around the edges. His eyes slipped shut before he could think of anything poignant to say to make things right and make his last words hella tight. 

There was an inescapable darkness floating around him, something indescribably distant and foggy, like a void surrounding him. Though maybe also like he was conked out after a long night partying.

Then his eyes opened again.

Welcome! Everything is fine.

Those words were displayed in front of him in large, clean text, as he sat on a pretty comfortable couch in a pretty well lit room, mostly decorated in white, in a place that he sort of recognized, but not really. For some reason though, a reason he couldn’t explain, he felt safe here, and he smiled to himself.

Within moments, a door opened, and a tall white-haired man who looked strikingly familiar said, tone friendly, inflection kind, “I’m looking for a… Jean-Ralphio?”

Now, he wasn’t that dumb. Suddenly, everything was flooding back to him. He binged the half of the first season with a girl he hooked up with awhile back. Unfortunately for him, though, he never finished the season or the series, and when he looked this man in the eye all he could feel was some strange mix of security and starstruck, as he stood up quickly. He suspected no tricks, no twists, no details beyond this basic perception. He didn’t know how this story went, he just knew the beginning.

“Is this a job interview? I’m gonna be honest with you that I have no idea how I got here. Heads up, I don’t have a resume, but I do have a-” He begins to sing talk once again, hand to his face. “-lot of experience in retail!”

“Oh boy.” The man said with a bit of a huff, realizing very suddenly that this was going to be one of those people. “Well, come on in. I promise you everything’s going to be fine.”


	2. Once In A Lifetime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael shows Jean-Ralphio around the neighborhood. It's everything Jean-Ralphio could dream of. A dream house, his literal soulmate, but still it feels like something is missing.

Sat comfortably in front of the man in a cozy but unfamiliar office in a cozy but unfamiliar office chair, Jean-Ralphio already had a few questions. This place felt a little bit Doctor’s office, a little bit Principal’s, and he’d had a lot of experience in both. 

“Hello, Jean-Ralphio. I’m Michael.” The mysterious man said with a smile. “How are you today?”

“Uh,” Jean-Ralphio hesitated at first, searching his mind for an explanation as to how he got to this strangely cosmic businessman’s office, but he was drawing a total blank. “I’ll be honest with you, I have no idea where I am or who you are or what’s going on.” He laughed shortly. “Man, I must have been out of my mind.” That had to have been the explanation. He must have been tripping balls so excellently that he totally blacked out on setting up this job interview, or whatever it was.

Michael paused a second, deciding to selectively ignore the implication that the man in front of him had been using recreational drugs before this talk. “Right. So. You, Jean-Ralphio Saperstein, are dead.”

“Whaaaat? Dead? Like, dead-dead?”

“Stone cold, I’m afraid. Your life on Earth has ended and you are now in the next phase of your existence in the universe.”

This only opened a whole new can of worms. The fact that he could not remember having died was one of the most disappointing facts about all of this. A man usually so exuberant and annoyingly vocalized, with widened eyes and a slightly open jaw, all he could utter in return was a low, amazed, “Wild.”

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions.” The man prompted.

“Hokay, for starters, what happened to me? Last I remember I was playing party crasher at City Hall and I got Knope’s digits, and if you’re telling me that I choked on a bacon-wrapped weenie or something I’m gonna need some footage of it, because that sounds pretty hot.”

“Yes, uh- in cases of traumatic or embarrassing deaths we erase the memory to allow for a peaceful transition. Are you sure you wanna hear?”

He nodded excitedly. 

“Well, you were still technically at that friendsiversary party at City Hall, but you and a former longtime friend were having a bit of a squabble-”

“Man, if I was gonna get taken out by any of my friends, I’m glad it was Tommy. I told him when I met him that we were gonna be ride or die. I guess he picked die, huh...”

“No, it seems that you were rather offended that he suggested you should stop - as they say - blowing up his inbox, and you backed out into the street to get into your pre-owned Acura Legend and drive off. In that exact moment, a 2008 Toyota Prius-”

“Dang. A Prius. Tragic.”

“Struck you and subsequently flung you upwards and caused you to fall onto the pavement in his… heap of blood and broken bones. Now, this didn’t kill you on impact, instead-”

“Okay, okay, okay, I think I got the point.”

“Fair enough.”

“So, I got a question for you, dog, now I totally get the whole… you know, afterlife thing, but I gotta know…” He paused, the question coming next from him a little quieter. “Should I have been better with the whole religion thing?”

“Oh! No worries about that, you see, every religion was right in their own way. Judaism got about… five percent. But, so did everybody else. Christians, Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, everyone was a little bit right and a little bit wrong. Except for Doug Forcett.”

“Who?”

“Doug Forcett was a stoner kid who lived in Calgary during the 1970s. One night he got really high on mushrooms and his best friend Randy said ‘Hey, what do you think happens after we die?’ and… Doug just launched into this long monologue where he got 92% correct. We couldn’t believe what we were hearing! That’s him actually, right up there.” He pointed to a picture on the wall of a college-age man, underneath it read ‘Doug Forcett - Calgary - Closest Guess’ in a clean, golden font. “He’s pretty famous around here. I’m very lucky to have that.”

“So… is this like… you know…”

“Well, it’s not really Heaven or Hell, but it is a lot more like the eternal paradise versus eternal suffering dynamic you were probably raised on. Basically, in the afterlife there is a Good Place and a Bad Place.”

“And…”

“And you’re in The Good Place.”

Jean-Ralphio breathed a sigh of relief, sinking slightly in the seat. Eternal suffering sounded like a major buzzkill. Lucky for Jean-Ralphio, or maybe unluckily, he wasn’t super attached to the religious traditions he’d been raised on. His family had never been traditional anyway. It didn’t stop the anxiety-induced lump from forming in his stomach, knowing full well that not only had he been a pretty terrible example of the faith, he was also probably giving everyone else a bad name by how he was generally as a person.

“You’re okay. You’re in The Good Place.”

“Okay, sweet,” He slides back up into his seat, rubbing his hands together. “So what’s paradise got to offer, Mikey? Are we talking, like, personalized? Because I got a few requests. We’re gonna need a hot tub, like a ton of Xannies, and all 31 seasons of Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives. You know Guy Fieri?”

“There are how many seasons?” He shook his head. “Well. Yes, your experience will be very personalized, but we don’t do those kinds of requests.” Michael paused, tilting his head slightly. “Xannies?”

“You know, Xanax?”

“Right. Well, one thing you should know about this place is that you won’t need that kind of stuff. Being dead, your body and mind are beyond the need for antidepressants or anxiety medication.”

“So… I can’t even take them for fun?”

“You take Xanax for fun?”

“Is ‘yes’ the wrong answer to that question?”

“Well, yes.”

“In that case, uh, no way. I take it for my crippling anxiety.”

“Got it.” Michael was very swiftly catching on, by Jean-Ralphio’s perception, that he wasn’t exactly of The Good Place stock. “Alright, well, we can’t stay here all day. There’s more to see.”

The neighborhood, as Michael described it, was a lot like Pawnee if Pawnee was substantially more bougie and clean and didn’t have so many raccoons. The streets were free of cracks and the sunny suburban atmosphere was consistently at a temperature that didn’t feel too hot or too cold. There were frozen yoghurt places, and diners (though not a drive-in or dive in sight) and cafes and people with bright, smiling, welcoming faces. Jean-Ralphio thought that was all fine and good, of course, but he wondered what the night life must be like here. If these people were exclusively the most good, most moral individuals on the planet, he decided that they were probably all a bunch of squares. Maybe, at the very least his personalized paradise would be more attuned to his needs.

Michael was talking about something that was probably important. “So this is how it works,” but Jean-Ralphio was not paying attention in the slightest, which was a feat, because it meant the dazed expression on his face leant towards the longest period of quiet he’d experienced in a long time. “You’re gonna have a million questions, I know. For right now, grab a seat. Movie’s about to begin.”

“Do I get popcorn?” 

The movie was just more of Michael throwing out some exposition that Jean-Ralphio opted to tune out. He’d seen this part before, after all, or at least the general gist of it. It’s a little hard to remember all the details of a Nerflix and Chill session. He decided though that he wouldn’t tell Michael or anyone that some douche named Mike Schur got a higher accuracy score than Doug Forcett.

“During your time on Earth,” The words sounded for all to hear from the giant TV screen. “Every one of your actions had a positive or a negative value, depending on how much good or bad that action put into the universe.” 

Snooze.

There was only one other set of words that got his full attention. “What happens to everyone else, you ask? Don’t worry about it.” 

Don’t worry about it.

Jean-Ralphio, briefly, took a glance at his hands, murmuring a quiet tally to himself of all the things that he had done that he could remember off the top of his head. A lot of the things he did, though, he had trouble determining whether or not the big man thought they were good or bad. For example, he thought off the top of his head, going to the Pawnee-Eagleton merger unity concert to spread peace throughout the two towns, and getting some dope VIP guests for Tom’s Bistro. Good. Breaking house arrest? Bad. Breaking house arrest to get dope VIP guests for Tom’s Bistro and helping with the Unity Concert? ...That was harder to figure out. These moral dilemmas were starting to turn his stomach. 

When he was thrusted back into the realm of reality, he made a bit of a squeaking noise as Michael firmly placed his hand on Jean-Ralphio’s shoulder, using the other to gesture towards what had been now identified as his new home. Jean-Ralphio looked back. Had he been zoned out that entire time? 

Fake it till you make it.

“Ayy, Michelangelo, my first favorite ninja turtle,” Jean-Ralphio begins, smile reforming on his face. “I’m not complaining, but are we forreal sure this place’s mine?”

The question came more so out of disbelief than distaste. In a similar style to his formerly Eagletonian property, (which he was only now considered is probably being cleaned out for all of his expensive belongings), this new abode was large and luxurious and way too big for one guy. A brief tour of the home, everything was as Jean-Ralphio had always imagined his future lifestyle of the rich and famous would end up. There was a hot tub, though no Guy Fieri or Xannies, but the kitchen was stocked and the king size bed spun around like in Austin Powers. There was a giant flat screen television which could play every single second of his life, every memory, good and bad. It was everything he could have ever dreamed of, yet it still felt empty. 

That was until Michael called Jean-Ralphio back to the front room, and said, “Now, I’ve got to go help out the other arrivals, but before I go… Jean-Ralphio, this is your soulmate.” That’s right, soulmates were real in this universe, and Michael had just presented Jean-Ralphio with his very own perfect person, the final solution to that pit of loneliness.

A woman stepped through the doorway. She was a little shorter than Jean-Ralphio, her hair long and wavy and reddish-blonde. Just like the lore of Ska bands of old, she wore a short skirt and a long... jacket. She held out her hand immediately, and Jean-Ralphio shook it vigorously, already enthused with Michael’s choice. “Strawberry blonde, I can do strawberry blonde.”

“Tall.” She replied with equal enthusiasm. “I can do tall.”

“Damn. Strong handshake-” He pulled his hand away, shaking the sting out. “Really strong. Ah.” He tried to regain his composure, standing his ground and flashing her a signature smile. “A fine little honey like you’s gotta have a name, right.”

“It’s Lana. Lana Mullan.”

“Lana here was a very influential, progressive political activist in her home country of Ireland.” Michael said.

“Uh huh.” Jean-Ralphio didn’t care. “How come you don’t have an accent?” 

“The Good Place translates all languages to accommodate for the person hearing them. Lana is speaking in her native accent, but you hear a Midwestern American accent because you’re from Indiana. It helps communication. If she were speaking Gaelic, you’d still hear English, and vice versa.” Said Michael, who was all things considered, probably not actually speaking English, huh?

“So what’s your dealio, Lana-Lana-bo-fana-banana-fana-fo-fana?”

“She dedicated most of her life to mental health awareness and combating drug abuse.”

“Oh shoot, you do molly?”

“Once, in college. She was really sweet but it didn’t work out between us because she had this massive collection of-” She trailed off, staring into space for a moment or so, before being suddenly hit with realization. “Oh, no. He means that I specifically aimed to help people who struggled with substance abuse. It was very rewarding.”

Micheal interjected, “Well, like I said, I’ve got other people to help out, so you two have fun with eternal paradise-” Before exiting out the front door he leaned in a little to Lana and said, “Watch out for him.” To which she replied with a curt nod.

Jean-Ralphio had heard that of course, but he couldn’t figure out if Michael meant ‘watch out for him’ as in ‘that boy means trouble’ or ‘watch out for him’ as in ‘protect him at all costs.’ He wasn’t sure which one he liked better.

As Michael left, Jean-Ralphio peeked out of the window, watching him meander on to the house next door, and Jean-Ralphio looked back at Lana with his face contorted in this unbefitting serious expression. “You ever see The Truman Show?”

“You mean… that movie where Jim Carrey’s life is fake?”

“We are absolutely Jim Carrey right now.”

“Oh yeah, this is all totally fake. Probably a prank show or something. Maybe it’s like Big Brother or that show where they throw two naked people in the wilderness and hope their beautiful, voluptuous buttcheeks don’t attract the bears.” Lana seemed to agree with Jean-Ralphio’s concerns. “I mean come on, though, you don’t look like the kind of guy to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“I’ll be real with you, I don’t trust horses. They walk on their fingernails and it’s forked up - why can’t I say fork? Fork, fork, fork...”

“I think they have some kind of censoring system in place so we don’t say anything inappropriate.”

“Oh come on, I don’t wanna go around sounding like I just got released by Kidz Bop! Come on, fork, beach, shirt… this sucks.

“Who cares about the censor? You still have a giant, expensive mansion in literal paradise.”

“I like the way you think, Lana-Lana-bo-”

“You’re gonna have to stop calling me that, like, immediately.”

“No, I got you, babe. So, this is basically our honeymoon, right? Let’s say we break in the sick spinning bed I got in my room.”

“You know, just because we’re technically soulmates doesn’t mean I’m going to hook up with you. I usually like to get to know someone before I hit the spinning bed with them.”

“Okay, I got it, I got it - we can get to know each other then. Let’s play Never Have I Ever.” He put his fingers up. “Never have I ever drank an entire bottle of extra virgin olive oil because I thought it was fancy italian wine.” He paused, then put one finger down.

“I don’t think that’s how this game works. The answer’s still no, by the way.”

Dejected, he puts his hands down.

“Look, let’s get out of here, we can figure out this stuff later, but we’re in paradise, we should check out the scenery! I say we go give the neighbors a fine hello. And if they’re self-righteous buttholes, we can make fun of them. It’ll be fun.”

The house next over was not much to sniff at. Just your average white-picket fence suburban home with a manicured lawn and a garage containing what appeared to be a red pick-up truck. It was small and average but it did seem to have a pool, as well as a nice few of the ocean… or was it a lake? A really wide river? 

Jean-Ralphio was eyeing the pool. He wanted a pool. Why didn’t he have a pool? Maybe the neighbors would be cool enough to let him use it a bunch. Speaking of which, there his neighbor was now, already soaking it up in a beach chair, reading a magazine, sunglasses on. 

When Jean-Ralphio approached, the neighbor tilted down his sunglasses to catch a better look at him, eyes immediately widening. “Oh God.”

“What is up, neighbor? The name’s Jean-Ralphio and I like in the dope mansion literally right next door. I can’t help but notice you gotta pool, so… if you don’t mind, I might crash here sometime and take a dip… hey wait. Do I know you from someplace, dude?”

The neighbor sighed, setting the sunglasses and the magazine aside, standing up, revealing himself a bit taller than Jean-Ralphio, and giving an awkward wave at Lana, who was just kind of witnessing the scene. When his face met Jean-Ralphio’s in full, finally, suddenly the face clicked with the voice and the look. 

“No way! I remember you, you were a boring city-planner guy who broke every girl in Pawnee’s heart, Mark-” Snap, snap. “Brendana… quits, right? I’d be disappointed but game recognizes game, my man.” 

“Tom’s friend, right?”

“Oh, no, sorry, we’ve cancelled any future business ventures due to a conflict of interest.”

“Also the fact that you’re… you know.”

“Hwhat?”

“...Dead?”

“Oh yeah! Haha, I keep forgetting that.” He smiled as he said it, but there was a saddened look behind his eyes. “I gotta know, how’d you end up here? Not saying you’re not worthy of The Good Place crowd ‘cause they let ya boy in too, but what’re the odds we both ate it at the same time?”

“Yeah. Kind of freaking out about it, I’ll be honest with you.” Mark said with a oddly calm expression for someone who has just dropped such a statement. “Hey, can I talk to you for a second.”

“We are already doing that, my dude.”

“No, I…” He glanced over at Lana, who awkwardly waved at them. “Like, alone? One on one. No offense, uh-”

“Lana. No, I get it. Can I use the pool?”

“Yeah, sure, go ahead.” Mark nudged Jean-Ralphio to follow him, and the two of them are standing on the porch of Mark’s new afterlife house. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Me? I am the best at keeping secrets. One time my friend Andre told me he had a foot fungus and I only told three people.”

“...Right, look, I don’t think I’m supposed to be here.”

“What, you don’t think you were good enough.”

“No- I don’t know. But what I do know is that Michael has been calling me Angelo since I got here.”

“I hate the name Angelo. How do you like Jello Shot? That good for you, J-Shot?” 

“Mark. I think I’m good with being called Mark, since that’s my name.”

“So what’s the sitch, Marky-Mark, you think there’s been a mix-up?”

“That is definitely the first time anyone has ever called me that.” He said, sarcastically. “And, yeah. I think some files must’ve gotten mixed up or something. Like… have you seen this place? It’s just like Pawnee. Crappy, mediocre suburban… red pick-up truck in the garage. My forking soulmate is my ex-girlfriend from college. It’s just like Pawnee.” 

“Can’t be Pawnee. Your pool doesn’t have a dead raccoon floating in it.”

“The pool is the only improvement on my house in Pawnee, and I don’t even like swimming that much. I dunno who Angelo was, but this place was made for him, not for me.”

“Hey, don’t stress it. You wanna know something? I don’t think I’m supposed to be here either!” He laughed rather loudly as punctuation. 

“What, your giant mansion not cutting it for you? You don’t strike me as minimalist.”

“Oh no, everything is perfect. I’ve got a beautiful house, I’ve got a beautiful wife-”

“But you don’t think you deserve it.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then I guess we’re both mistakes, huh? Maybe we should tell Michael.”

“And go to The Bad Place? No way, I am perfectly fine with living with the guilt for the rest of eternity.”

Mark looked out to the quaint, sunshiney neighborhood, the beautiful trees and mountains and the lake or ocean or wide river, and at Jean-Ralphio’s giant and spacious mansion, and at his own crappy little house and his red Ford pick-up. “I guess you’re right.”

“It’s ‘bout time you figured it out. I’m always right.”

“You know, I heard that there was some kinda, uh, welcoming party tonight. You going to swing by?”

“Hecks yeah I’m gonna swing by! I bet every party in the afterlife is gonna be like the dopest Halloween party you ever saw, since we’re all dead and stuff!”

“You really just like… throwing that out there, huh?”

“It’s a-” Jean-Ralphio then raised his hand to the side of his face, and said with much sing-songy tone and inflection, “-coping mechanism!”

Now, the party that took place that night was a little bougier than anything Mark Brendanawics was used to. Expensive champagne, jumbo shrimp, accommodating waitstaff. Speaking of which- “Hey, Janet!” 

“Yes?” A woman appeared as if out of thin air, a blank smile on her friendly face.

“Whoa!” Jean-Ralphio was amazed, “You can make ladies appear just by saying their names?”

“No, she’s like uh- an assistant or whatever. Like on the computer.”

“No way, a real life Alexa!” 

“Actually, my name is Janet.”

“Yeah, can you refill this, Janet?” Mark smiled at her, handing her the empty champagne glass, and Jean-Ralphio took a few double takes in between the two of them. Mark had long ago sworn off his womanizer habits, but Jean-Ralphio could sense a slight jealousy. 

“I like your energy, girl,” Jean-Ralphio wormed his way in between them, “What’s your story? You lonely? You wanna come back to my place? I have a bed that spins.”

“I’m not a girl.” Janet replied.

“That’s alright, sometimes I call other people beautiful too, ‘cause you’re beautiful, not-girl. I guess I’m just open-minded like that. Got any pronouns, baby?”

“It’s technically correct to refer to me as ‘she,’ but I’m not a girl. I’m a mostly formless, genderless interface designed to help people in the neighborhood.”

“So is that a ‘no’?”

“Are you currently unhappy with your soulmate placement?”

“What, I-” He glanced over to see Lana talking to another partygoer, drink in hand, they hadn’t even arrived together. In fact, Jean-Ralphio had been spending more time with Mark than he was his soulmate, and Mark was about as exciting as a saltine cracker. “Nah, I’m good, I just like to look at my options.”

“Given that I’m a formless, genderless help interface who is probably incapable of providing for you sexually or emotionally, I’m going to consider this a win. Bye!” She disappeared.

“Dang, that is one fine computer.” Jean-Ralphio could not help but feel a little left out, considering everyone else (besides him and Mark) seemed to be living it up with their soulmate, totally hitting it off. But Lana didn’t seem interested, and Jean-Ralphio hadn’t even met Mark’s soulmate. A girlfriend from college. 

Mark downed the champagne which Janet had refilled. “Who needs ‘em?” It was no secret he was fairly unsuccessful with romance on Earth. The hook-ups with Leslie and Malwae-Tweep, Ann breaking up with him the day he was going to propose, the long string of girlfriends during and after his time in Pawnee, and here he was in literal paradise, saddled with his ex and some drugged-out loser, and the only woman who smiled back at him here was a computer. So who needed them? His hand landed on Jean-Ralphio’s shoulder. “Let’s get wasted. Maybe we’ll start to forget we’re even dead.”

A smile crept onto Jean-Ralphio’s face, and he bounced lightly on the heels of his brightly colored sneakers. “Party like there’s no tomorrow.”

Shots shots shots shots shots shots  
Shots shots shots shots shots  
Shots shots shots shots shots

Everybody!

Bad idea, bad bad idea. The night was a blur. Crashing the welcoming party of the upper crust with his usual antics, and breaking more than a few glasses. The craziest of crazies, right? Party. Girls. Dancing. Mark was plastered. Michael!? Argument. Fleeing the scene. Hiding behind a bush. Coming home. 

He tried to recount the events, sobering up ever so slightly on the cold, hard floor, head spinning. He remembered, deep into the night, Mark getting totally plastered, stomping his way up to Michael, who had been previously minding his business, and straight up telling him off. Course, Jean-Ralphio couldn’t remember everything he said. It went a little something like this…

“It’s a scam! This place is a scam! S’posed to be in paradise an’ all I have… is the same old crappy life I was living before! It’s a set up! I’m not… I’m not s’posed to be here!”

Jean-Ralphio had no idea what Michael said in response, but he was fully prepared to never see Mark again. He was okay with that. It’s not like he was comforted by there being a familiar face around here or anything, even if they exchanged very few words in their own lives. Boy’s night was not a success.

“You’re drunk.” Lana folded her arms, eyeing Jean-Ralphio on the floor in the dark room. 

“Uh, correction - was drunk, I feel… fine.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“So what’re you gonna do, ground me?”

“Here.” She picked up a folded quilted blanket from the couch and threw it at him. “Drink some water. There’s like, eight spare bedrooms. Let me know if you need anything. But we’re not sharing a room, got it?” 

“Got it…” He honestly felt like a scolded child, and when Lana disappeared into the darkness, he tightly gripped onto the quilted blanket, feeling so deeply alone in paradise. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the dead part, but he sniffled into the fabric, wishing he could just… call Tom, or his sister, maybe even his dad, maybe-

He scrambled to his feet, fumbling into his pocket. Though dark, he could feel a small slip of notepad paper folded up in his jacket pocket. He searched the whole place for a telephone, anything, he could use one with a chord if he had to! But he found nothing.

“Hey, Janet?”

“Yes?”

“Can I make a call?”

“There are no telephones here. You’re dead.”

“C’mon, just one call? It’s important? Get me a phone, like, now please.”

“Okay, but it won’t work.” She presented him with an older model of an iPhone, what a throwback. It didn’t even fold down the middle. 

“Thanks a million.”

Janet disappeared again, thinking her work here was done.

Carefully, squinting in the light of the phone, he dialed Leslie’s number, maybe even for once praying that it would work. 

And then she picked up.

“Hey-o, Knope, we gotta talk! Don’t ask how I’m talking to you, I dunno how this is even possible, but I’m totally freaking out here! I don’t know where I am, I mean, I know where I am but I don’t know where it is, and I think I died?”

Leslie’s voice was warm and welcoming, but all she said was, “Hi.” 

He assumed she just didn’t hear all of that, maybe the connection was bad. “Leslie. I’m for serious right now. I’m freaking the heck out. I think I’m dead. I keep thinking I’m gonna wake up and then I don’t.” 

“I don’t really know what to say right now,” She said, maybe a touch awkwardly. “I’m really, really sorry this happened to you. I can’t help but feel like this is my fault. I mean, actually, it’s Tom’s fault, right? I didn’t even throw the party. But someone has to take the blame.”

“Are you even listening to me? I need your help-”

“I know you can’t hear me.”

“Fork. Leslie, Leslie, Leslie- Les, K to the N to the O to the P to the E, come on, do you read? Earth to Leslie! Please, please tell me you’re getting my words right now.”

“...I have to go.”

“Noooooo, come on!” 

It was no use. Despite his pleas, she hung up, and left him in a quiet, dark room, phone in hand, and nothing better to do than to play Candy Crush until he fell asleep on the couch of his dream home, kind of alone, and kind of lonely. 

Things never really change, do they?


	3. BBFL

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The people of Pawnee are coping pretty well after the accident, except for Tom who is neither a person of Pawnee anymore or coping very well at all. He takes a walk down memory lane.

“I’d just like a moment alone with him.” Leslie said, gently caressing Ben’s forearm, signalling for him to step away for a second while she said her peace. Though Ben didn’t really see the point in having to physically distance himself, he nodded succinctly and did so, stepping away a moment and staring down a moderately busy hallway, early morning, at Pawnee hospital’s coma ward. 

He leaned against the wall, checked his watch several times, and sighed exasperated more times then he could count, and he had been counting. He was exhausted, and the last twenty-four hours of continual consciousness had started to do a number on his mental state. Honestly? This place kind of freaked him out. Didn’t help that he wasn’t just here for a leisurely day trip. Then again, he wasn’t sure what kind of person would visit a hospital for a vacation with no reason to be there. April probably. Arms folded, back against the wall, he’d be lying if he claimed he hadn’t started to doze off. 

Leslie honestly felt guilty about this whole thing. Sure, she’s not the one who broke it, but she could not help but take the blame. So, frazzled and tired, worn out and sympathetic, she tentatively brushed her fingers against the limp arm of Jean-Ralphio Saperstein, whose survival of the hit and run, she imagined, could be blamed solely on the beautiful land-mermaid Ann Perkins, who had no idea her first week living back in Pawnee would mean getting called in for this. Yes, this had to be the doing of that incredible, sexy nurse Ann. Otherwise, Leslie was sure this place would’ve accidentally killed him by now.

“Hi.” She smiled, unsure why since she couldn’t see her, but she kept her voice warm. “I don’t know what to say right now.” Logically, she didn’t need to say anything. “I’m really, really sorry this happened to you. I can’t help but feel like this is my fault. I mean, actually, it’s Tom’s fault, right? I didn’t even throw the party. But someone has to take the blame.” Throwing Tom under the bus was kind of a dick move, but really, if Tom hadn’t been such a drama queen, none of this would have happened. “I know you can’t hear me.” She would stare at him for a long time, and her expression almost seemed like a scowl, but she was willing in her mind for him to just wake up and bounce back to normal, right now, immediately. She would take regular, annoying Jean-Ralphio over depressing, comatose Jean-Ralphio any day. She looked at her watch. four AM. “...I have to go.”

“Leslie,” Ben began, rubbing at his eye. “We have to go home eventually. I haven’t spent this long in a hospital since you gave birth to triplets.”

“I know, I just wanted to come and apologize.”

“This had nothing to do with you.”

“I know. It’s all Tom’s fault.”

“Leslie, if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s definitely Jean-Ralphio’s.”

“You can’t just blame somebody for getting hit by a car.”

“Look, all I’m saying is that this is the third time he’s gotten hit by a car since we’ve known him. Don’t think that’s a little suspicious? He spoke, very frequently, about getting hit by vehicles, kind of enthusiastically.”

“No…” Leslie glanced behind her. “This isn’t- No. It’s not. He doesn’t-” She shook her head. “No- no, that’s ridiculous. This time was definitely an accident.”

Ben and Leslie walked hand in hand, about five minutes of sleep shared between them. Usually that fact was funny and quirky, Leslie being a workaholic and Ben being… Ben, but for once the situation at hand wasn’t very funny at all. 

Ann Perkins. “Oh my god, Leslie, you’re still here?” From Leslie’s perspective, Ann still glowed absolutely radiantly with her hair pulled back and her makeup runny, and her scrubs slightly sweat-stained. 

“We’re headed home right now, actually. The kids can’t stay at my mom’s forever, I’m sure she’s losing her mind by now.”

“Yeah. I’m headed out too. Chris is home with the kids, but, hoo, I am tired and hungry that hospital food is starting to look good. I almost stole somebody’s pudding cup. God, I don’t even like pudding. It feels like you just took a bottle of shampoo and just… went at it.”

“Oh, Ann…” Leslie disregarded how strange that comparison was and quickly stepped forward and gave her best friend a very tight hug. “Dear, sweet Ann, you’re a hero, you know that?”

“I didn’t… really do anything. You know I’m not a doctor, right? I’m a nurse.”

“You are carrying the weight of this entire hospital on your shoulders, is what you are.”

“Well, they’re going to have to carry themselves, because I have to go to Walmart and pick up some pudding then go home and watch HGTV.”

“Your dedication to your work is commendable. You should get an award for Best Nurse In Pawnee Ever.”

“Yeah,” Ann yawned, pulling away from Leslie. “Too bad you don’t work at City Hall anymore, you probably could’ve legally awarded me that.”

“Damn it! I should have done it while I had the chance as City Councilor. You know what, when I’m Governor I’ll get you one.”

“Thanks.” Ann had, by then, started to walk away, and as she did she could not help but give in to the thoughts which had been plaguing her mind all day. Today had been kind of a nightmare. You know, usually working at a hospital didn’t bother her much. Scary things happened literally every second of every day, but occasionally she wondered if this whole thing was some kind of punishment for being rude to Jean-Ralphio at the party. That couldn’t be true, right? She had every right to turn down his advances - were they even advances? She was too exhausted to be having a moral dilemma, so when she reached her car she put on Cyndi Lauper and tried to forget.

Ben and Leslie had almost made it out safely. Ben spoke, asking, “Hey, you think anyone’s contacted the family yet?”

“Oh no.” Leslie watched as she saw an unfortunately familiar face walk towards them in the hallway. 

There she was, Mona-Lisa Saperstein, decked out in her usually extravagant attire, even if she was almost forty. Hair teased up underneath a sparkly black sequin beret, a matching miniskirt over torn leggings, a cute fuzzy vest over a lacy purple crop top. Over her eyes she wore chunky black sunglasses with little rhinestones in the sides, but when she took them off she revealed that the most unusual thing that Mona-Lisa was wearing that day was the thick mascara running down her face, and smudged eyeliner making her look more like a raccoon than a human woman. She stopped, briefly, pointing a finger at Leslie and Ben collectively, opening her mouth to speak, but instead of speaking she just choked a pathetic little sob, which then turned into a long, high pitched whine. 

“Mona-Lisa, are you-” Leslie reached out her hand to touch her shoulder, but Mona-Lisa immediately batted it away and pushed past the two of them, whimpering the whole time.  
“Should we go after her?” Ben asked, looking just a touch concerned, even though under most circumstances he would try to avoid talking to Mona-Lisa as much as humanly possible. 

“I don’t know, I don’t know.” Leslie rubbed at her hand, Mona-Lisa’s swipe having left a sting. “I think she wants to be left alone.”

When Ben and Leslie were finally out in the parking lot of Pawnee hospital, the sun was beginning to rise against the dark blue Indiana sky, and accompanying distant sirens and cars going by, were the gentle chirping of birds who didn’t know that today was supposed to be sad or that Leslie and Ben were going to sleep when they awoke. It’d be a long drive home after finally moving back to Pawnee, but it wasn’t as long as it could have been, and Marlene had agreed to watch the kids until they woke up, but still Leslie felt that she could be doing more. That there was something else left before she finally got to rest.

“I wonder how Tom’s holding up.” She said, hands on the steering wheel, itching to pull out her phone and give him a call. 

“He’s probably asleep.” Ben said, but he wasn’t so sure.

Leslie sat there in silence for a long while, Ben not too far behind, both mentally drained.

“This really sucks.” Leslie said eventually, the understatement of the century.

“Oh, it more than sucks.”

“It sucks major dick, Ben.” Leslie retracted her previous statement.

“I know.”

“I just feel like I have to do something more for Jean-Ralphio. What can we do more? I’ll pay his medical bills. I’ll pay all of his bills. Do you think he’s paid off his car payment? Student loans?”

“Leslie, do you think he has student loans? From college?”

“You’re right. That was a garbage idea. How about a fundraiser - a charity! I’ll name a charity after him.”

“You know, he’s not dead yet, Leslie. We might want to be a little slower with the In Memoriam stuff. Seems a little distasteful. Besides, I’m sure his family has this all paid for and taken care of. They don’t seem to be short on money.”

“So what do we do?”

“Nothing right now.”

“What do we do tomorrow?” 

“Call Tom.”

Turns out, Ben was incorrect to assume that Tom had fallen asleep by then, and well into the currently rising sunset of the Indiana morning, he felt too tired to sleep. He was supposed to be, by now, on a long drive back to DC where he and Lucy had been staying at the time. Unlike Ben, Leslie, Ann, and Chris, Tom and Lucy were tentative to give up their life of glitz and glamour and move back to small town Indiana. Up until about twenty-four hours ago, he was perfectly willing to leave everything here behind and to never look back. Well, besides to hit up Donna… and Leslie… and Ben, he guessed, and April, and Andy, and Ron, and Ann, and Chris… and… maybe there was someone else, but he couldn’t think of it right now. 

Instead, here he was, squinting to the bright white light of his iPhone as he lay spread eagle and face up on a cushy hotel bed meant for two in former Eagleton. At this point he was totally regretting not bringing Lucy along, who had been under the impression that this would be a short trip. Truth be told he hadn’t told her yet. Hadn’t told her that he’d be staying here for awhile, probably. Lowkey, he was planning on staying up until an hour where it’d be reasonable to call her, and so he was biding his time with Candy Crush and his Twitter feed and staring at the little notification symbol which read four unread voicemails from the contact on his phone labeled ‘J-Dawg.’

It wouldn’t hurt to listen to them, right? He sort of felt like he owed old J-Dawg at least a little recognition. After all, the last conversation they ever had was permeated with Tom’s insistence that he didn’t need Jean-Ralphio anymore. 

“Hey-ooooo, Tommy T, in comes a voice message from your favorite OG… friend… I’ve been working on that one like you said. Soooo, I’m dropping you this message ‘cause I think it has been way super long since you and I had a reunion. I know you’re hella busy with all those crazy book deals and your hot wife and those ballers down in DC, but don’t forget where your real homies are at! For serious, man, I miss you. What happened to the good times when you and I used to hit the town together? Didja see that video I posted on Facebook? That had to be one of our Top Ten Best Tom and Jean-Ralphio moments in 2011. Fo’ sho’. Oop, I think the thing’s ‘bout to cut out, hold on uno momento-”

Okay, so, maybe he did need him a little a bit. A lotta bit. “Yo…” Tom said aloud, not realizing how raw it was to hear your best currently comatose friend’s voice twenty-four plus hours since the accident. He didn’t delete the voicemail. He’d keep it for now. 

You know, he remembered how they met very clearly. 

It was actually within his first week of moving to Pawnee after college with his then wife, Wendy. Wendy was a Canadian looking for a green card marriage, and everyone assumed Tom was an Indian looking for a green card marriage. The perfect cover-up. 

Tom was a different man back then, a lady’s man fo’ sho’ - he and Wendy had a more than open relationship - and he really was just skirting by on glitter, alcohol, and glittery alcohol. Not a care in the world. 

The club was popping that night, but Tom wasn’t dancing. Pulsing, annoying dance music was pounding at his every sense. He planned on calling a taxi later. Screw designated driver, he came out to have fun. It was just that his idea of fun was avoiding him the entire night. 

“Tommykins, can you order me another one?” Wendy hadn’t quite yet mastered the art of inconspicuous and was going through a phase of calling Tom rather annoying pet names”

“Sure thing boo-boo.” Eventually, Tom would shorten ‘boo-boo’ to just ‘boo’ - a name which he would call every woman in his life from then on until forever, romantic or otherwise. He turned to the bartender. “Another cupcake flavored vodka shot, please.” And he paid upfront, handing his girl the drink when it was ready, and she thanked him and proceeded to immediately ditch him for the dance floor. 

The guy next to Tom, a tall glass of water with a scrunchy sort of lopsided smile and a brightly colored scarf around his neck. He giggled, for lack of a better word. “You guys are weird.”

“Uh, do I know you?”

“No.” He laughed again past the rim of his fruity colored drink, before setting it down on the side of the bar. “The name’s Jean-Ralphio.” And immediately grabbed Tom’s hand to shake it, rather firmly. “I’m kind of a… big deal around here!” He raised his hand to his face to emphasize that last part. “You must be Tommykins!”

“It’s just Tom, actually.” He retracted his hand, but his initial annoyance was starting to fizzle. He kind of dug this guy’s style. He looked pretty fly (for a white guy). He carefully eyed him up and down, making sure to take careful consideration, trying to pick out a detail he could isolate and compliment. Insincere flattery was the best way to make friends. “Where’d you get those shoes?”

Jean-Ralphio leaned in real close, putting a hand up to block his words from onlookers, the international gesture for ‘this is a secret’ - he said, “They’re originals.” And he wiggled his feet in his colorful blue-and-pink high-tops with glittery see-through laces. 

“Whoa.” If he had a camera to cut to with an unseen interviewer behind the lens, he would have said that this Jean-Ralphio seemed like the perfect business partner and he was definitely his connections guy to the bumping underground scene of… Pawnee, Indiana, and that he knew how lame that sounded. Instead Tom said, “You’re a genius.”

“I know, right? You uh- you want my business card?” He whipped out a little shiny piece of paper and flicked it towards Tom.

“This is a coupon for Burger King.”

“Oh shit, I need that-” He immediately pocketed it again. “You got a pen? We’re doing this the old fashioned way.”

Tom always had a pen on him, so Jean-Ralphio clicked it into action, pulled back the sleeve on Tom’s blazer, and wrote his phone number down, signing it Jean-Ralphio Saperstein.

“Oh, Tommy,” Wendy said with a distinctly teasing lilt to her voice as she sauntered back to the two of them, “You just score this guy’s number?” She looked him up and down as well. “Nice.”

Jean-Ralphio’s eyebrows went up, but his grin only grew.

“Oh, no- no, babycakes, we- we’re not, I’m not-”

“It’s cool, dog. I hook up with men too. Guess I’m just open minded as heeee-eeee-eeeeell! And bisexual. I’m bisexual.” He looked between them excitedly. “So, are you two down to clown or what?”  
Needless to say, Tom, Wendy, and Jean-Ralphio did not hook up that night, or any night afterwards, but Tom did proverbially holler at your boy, and called him back not a day later. Little did he know that one little action birthed an unparalleled friendship.

Tom clicked on the second voicemail.

“Sorry about that, you got a way short time limit on your voicemails, dude. Might as well just call me back or something so I can hit you up for realsies. Like I was saying, we have got to meet up like old times. Lucky for me, I’m still fluuuu-uuuu-uuushed with cash from the lawsuit. I could treat us to something nice. Guess what? An Applebee’s just opened up downtown! We could be ‘Eatin’ goooooood in the neighborhoooood!’ You remember that commercial? …Please call me back.”

Man, Tom wanted nothing more than to be drunk and stupid in an Applebee’s parking lot with his best friend. He could’ve been eating good in the neighborhood.

If he was being honest, he kind of missed the times when he was basically living with Jean-Ralphio. There was a brief time when Dr. Saperstein had totally kicked the twins to the street (the wise decision, really) and Jean-Ralphio was, as he once happily proclaimed into Ron Swanson’s ear, technically homeless. It was nice having someone else around to fill the empty space in his apartment that wasn’t DJ Roomba. 

However, even then Tom felt a little bit of a separation between them, even though every night Jean-Ralphio would collapse onto Tom’s couch. Yeah, after the divorce and a string of messy, kind of weird relationships, Tom was thankful to see another living breathing person in his apartment. 

But not all nights were happy. Not every night was spent watching Star Wars and tossing popcorn in the air and trying to catch it in their mouths, or trying to hatch up the latest and greatest scheme for success, fame, money, girls. Jean-Ralphio always had so many plans that he would wholeheartedly proclaim, cross-legged on Tom’s fancy leather sofa, clinging to a throw pillow, wearing fuzzy socks and pajamas with Sonic the Hedgehog on them. He was more giggly (for lack of a better word) when he was tired. Yet still, not all nights were like that.

Some nights were scary. 

Tom remembered it clearly. He had just set out to locate his toothbrush when he caught a glimpse of Jean-Ralphio through the slightly cracked open bathroom door. Seeing that he was dressed, decent, and not shaving or shitting, Tom nudged the door open and looked at Jean-Ralphio standing in front of the bathroom sink, and his own reflection in the mirror. A distinct noise met Tom’s ears, a noise he had by now grown familiar with. The sound of a pill bottle screwing open. 

Jean-Ralphio had, on several occasions, said something along the lines of ‘Swear it’s prescription, dude, Doctor’s orders.’ But Tom wasn’t dumb. He remembered Mona-Lisa proudly proclaiming she took more than just birth control, so logically he knew that Jean-Ralphio took more than just Xanax, or Adderall, or Vicodin, or Ecstasy. It was always something new. Jean-Ralphio was always ingesting the monster of the week. He knew that because Jean-Ralphio did not have social anxiety, or ADHD, or severe pain, but he was bored, and every reason to use ecstasy, right? Right. That’s what he always said. Doctor’s orders, alright.

Tom wasn’t a snitch. Snitches get stitches. Yet still, when he swore that Jean-Ralphio would take more than the recommended daily dose, or snort something dusty off the kitchen counter, Tom kind of got a little uncomfortable. Like, hey, it’s not like he’d never partaken in like, weed or anything. He liked weed. God, he wished Jean-Ralphio would just do weed like a normal person. 

“You sure you should be taking that?” Every time he had this confrontation he felt like a fucking narc, but there was a line, right? This was crossing a line, right? It was his apartment, right? 

“Trust me, mi compadre, I know what I’m doing.” Jean-Ralphio cupped a few pills in his hand, like Flintstone vitamins, and he downed them like that. Dry. He was used to it by now.

Tom had no doubt in his mind that Jean-Ralphio knew what he was doing. But that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that he knew it all too well.

In the present, Tom played the next voicemail. 

“It’s ya boy again. Are you not getting these or something? I heard you were gonna be in town soon. That’s dope! I know you’re probably gonna be dying in the old office, so hit me up, give me a call, shoot me a text... Please.”

There was a certain desperation in Jean-Ralphio’s voice, and Tom had heard it before. 

He remembered sometime during or after the big blow out sale after the ultimate failure of their joint enterprise Entertainment 720, that the two of them had basically thrown everything they worked for out the window, and failure was the word of the day. 

“Hey, Tommy T, you’re not gonna believe this, but-” 

“I’m not in the mood.” Tom immediately interjected, not ready to fling himself into a new project just yet after the last one fell through so quickly, but he could see in Jean-Ralphio’s eyes that there was another plan in the works, and he didn’t wanna hear it. That was probably the first time he’d gotten so annoyed by him.

Jean-Ralphio seemed to have this Tommy T sixth sense, always checking the vibes, always knowing when he was upset. So, for a moment, he was quiet, and he leaned against the wall, the two of them alone in a hallway in a now mostly empty building they had to give up their space in very soon. But when things were quiet, Jean-Ralphio’s feet started to bounce, or his hands would tap against the wall, or he’d start talking again, which he did. “Hey, Tommy, don’t get so down in the dumps, alls we gotta do is pick up the pieces and start over again.”

“I know, but this blows. It more than just blows.”

“I know, it blows major dick, but the Tom Haverford I know doesn’t just give up ‘cause shit hit the fan. Keep moving forward! Ha, I heard that in a movie once.”

“Thanks, man. How come you always know what to say to make me feel better?”

“We are on a different wavelength, you and I. It’s like we’re super in sync. Nobody knows us better than us. That is what being business partners and BBFLs is all about!”

Tom felt kind of guilty for snapping at him, so he just thanked him again and gave him a nice little pat on the shoulder, saying, “You’re right. We’re in it till the end, buddy. The long haul.”

Jean-Ralphio inched ever so closer, grin on his face. “Hells yeah, baby, ride until we die. Ride until we die.”

“I dunno what I’d do without you.”

The moment was weirdly soft for a couple of chucklefucks like them, and maybe Jean-Ralphio's assessment of the mood wasn’t so keen this time. Perhaps he misinterpreted it, the hand on his shoulder, that tiniest affirmation that they were in some cosmic sense, inseperable. In it till the end. The long haul. Ride or die. 

Jean-Ralphio leaned in rather slowly, before closing the space between them all at once, and kissed his best bro for life with a shocking amount of tenderness for someone so zonked 95% of the time. On one hand, it only lasted a few seconds. On the other hand, it must have lasted a million.

Oh my god, Tom thought, though he wasn’t immediately pulling away. His mind was going a mile a minute, a cascade of thoughts whizzing by, all of him feeling totally electrified, I’m kissing Jean-Ralphio. 

But it wasn’t right. He knew it wasn’t right. Tom knew, pretty certainly, that he was not attracted to Jean-Ralphio, or really men in general. He wasn’t gay, he’d say. He wasn’t even bi, and he had always known Jean-Ralphio was. When they lived together, it wasn’t just women Jean-Ralphio brought home. The dude literally hit on him the day they met. But this was wrong, and he felt guilty, but as gently as they came together, he pushed Jean-Ralphio away. It wasn’t rough, or anything. His eyes were closed, and he said very carefully and quietly, “Dude,” A long pause. “I’m not gay.”

“Me neither.” Jean-Ralphio said.

“Seriously.” Tom’s eyes opened to Jean-Ralphio’s crestfallen face. He looked desperate.

He got the message then, respecting Tom’s boundaries, and taking a step back, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed. Crushed, more likely. Jean-Ralphio was often in the business of unrequited feelings. He loved so many people so much, and Tom was near the top of the list, and he realized then that he’d have to live with that. That now Tom knew. No lie could get him out of it. 

Tom didn’t want to ruin their friendship. He knew how these things went. There were two ways, actually, that a kiss could ruin a friendship. Either it caused them to stop being friends, or it caused them to stop being friends, and he wanted neither. But he didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m so alone.”

In the present, Tom blinked a few times in realization. Like, “Oh my god,” He said, “That was totally a cry for help.” Why did he always realize these things like, fourteen years later. It only just then hit him that he’d almost known Jean-Ralphio for twenty years and he told him he didn’t need him anymore. 

He pressed play one more time. He at least owed him that.

“What is up Haverford-focus, I know… it’s ya boy again, just dropping a message to let you know I’m swinging by the old stomping grounds, thought we could catch up like old times. Talk to you soon, mi compadre.”

Maybe it was late/early enough to call Lucy. No answer. She was probably still asleep. However, this meant that Tom was staring at his contact list, no longer squinting because the sun had begun to rise, and the white light no longer hurt his eyes so much. He stared intently at the contact labeled J-Dawg, and wished so badly that he could answer those voicemails. 

He clicked the call button even though he knew that he could never pick up, that calling that number was a fruitless endeavor, that no matter what he wouldn’t hear another voice on the other end, because it was too late to call him back. 

Except, this time someone did pick up.

“Wh- Mona-Lisa, is this you? That’s cold, picking up your brother’s phone like that.”

But it wasn’t Mona-Lisa at all. “Whoa! Tommy T! You have no idea how happy I am to hear from you, man, I thought I was a goner for sure. Dude, you gotta help me. I dunno where I am and I’m lowkey freaking out. Okay, highkey freaking out.”

At first he thought it might have been a recording, but it sounded so… organic. “Yo, I can’t believe it. Are you okay? Where are you? Did the doctors let you go?”

“C’mon, this can’t end up like last time. Can you hear me? Hello? Earth to Haveford! C’mon… I’m in real hot water. I dunno what’s going on. I think I might be dead.”

“I got you, buddy, I can hear you. Imma head out - you still at the hospital? I’ll meet you there.” And Tom did head out, even if the sight of even his own car made him a little queasy these days. 

The drive to the hospital was short, especially with Tom trying to communicate with his former and current best friend the whole time. When your best bro needs you, speed limits and red lights don’t exist. Luckily for Tom, he himself experienced no incident on the way there.

They spoke like that, in sort of not-quite specifics as Tom darted down the halls of Pawnee hospital to the coma ward, feeling a bit like that meme that was popular a few years back. “I am almost there, boo. Don’t give up on me now!”

“Tommy, come on… Tommy? Tom?”

But the funny thing about it all was the way that the room still felt silent, and Jean-Ralphio Saperstein was right where Ben and Leslie left him, and Tom on his iPhone, still able to hear his voice ring through to what his best friend thought was a dead line.

“Tom? Fuck… Not again” And with that, Jean-Ralphio hung up. 

Tom felt like he just heard a ghost.


	4. Do I Wanna Know?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean-Ralphio gets used to life in The Good Place. Meanwhile, Mark has trouble adjusting to this whole "being dead" thing and would prefer if everyone would just stop reminding him of it.

“Ayyy!” Jean-Ralphio greeted loudly in the town square of the Good Place neighborhood, several days having passed since the last series of events. With every one of his next words he jumped a little closer to her. “Planet! Schmanet! Janet!” Janet usually wasn’t out by her own volition, so he was surprised to see her out in the open.

“Hello Jean-Ralphio.” Janet greeted with a pleasant smile. “Today, what is up-” She points a finger towards the sky, “Are flying lessons. Here at the Good Place we’re capable of doing a lot of things that humans wouldn’t be able to do otherwise with no consequences because you’re dead!” She always said words like that with such a cheery tone to her voice, seemingly having no regard for the macabre. She indicated then to a large trampoline-like structure, where various other Neighborhood Residents have been launching themselves from in order to soar up high in the sky.

“Holy shirt-” He’d never fully get used to the fact that he couldn’t swear in this place, but by now he’d learned to stop commenting on it every time it happened. “I wanna try! I wanna try!” He bounced up and down on his feet childishly with his giddy expression on his face. “Let me fly!”

Janet’s expression never changed from her bright smile. “I don’t know why you’re begging me to let you when I literally just told you that you were welcome to do it.” When she said that word ‘literally’ her head cocked to the side slightly, like some kind of tick.

Jean-Ralphio didn’t wait another second to make a hop, skip, and jump onto the launch pad, to which Janet called out, “You have to wait for it to- Oh! Bye!” She waved cheerily as he immediately got flung into the air at a remarkable speed. 

Jean-Ralphio had been on an airplane before. Several, actually, if you’d believe it. He’d went hang-gliding for his sister’s eighteenth birthday. Well, it was his eighteenth birthday too but all he could remember from that day was the sensation of smacking into a tree and getting severely concussed about a minute after leaving the ground. He’d even been on one of those fancy ski lifts that carry you up the mountain, except he fell twelve feet to the ground from the lift because he was trying to get the attention of a totally rocking blonde in the seat in front of him. He was starting to think it may have been no surprise his death was a sudden and tragic accident, he kind of got injured a lot.

However, as he tumbled upwards through the air like a pair of socks thrown through the spin cycle, past the trees and the birds and through the cold mist of the clouds, he found that those experiences were nothing compared to this.

He saw the neighborhood from up above and wondered if this was what angels felt like looking down on humanity, if angels were real. He was kind of iffy on that. He saw people and frozen yoghurt shops and trees and the great big lake and big fluffy white clouds surrounding him, his hair immediately wetting and sticking to his face, his clothes soaked, and body chilled. He scrambled upwards like he was trying to swim to the surface of a pool, and he wondered if he kept going if he would reach the sun. He bellowed out the loudest “Woohoo!” he could muster and zipped along like Peter Pan when he thought about happy things. Second star to the right, straight on to morning. 

He stared at the sun for a rather long time, his previously chilled body filled with this hazy golden warmth, and he began to hear sweet music fill the air. Was that the angel’s chorus welcoming him to paradise?

No, it was his cell phone ringing. He would’ve jumped if he wasn’t already in the air and currently soaring over the great lake near The Neighborhood. He deduced that the thing must be waterproof. “Oh- oh hecks yeah, thanks Janet! Wait… if there’s no phones here, who’s- who’s calling me?”

He brought the phone to his ear, listening for a voice on the other line, but all he could hear was crying. His chest was suddenly struck with this tingly pang of guilt, and sirens went off in his big dumb head, and he held the phone just a little closer. “Hey-... hey- Mon, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay. I’m here. It’s okay.”

By now he understood that she probably couldn’t hear him, but the laws of the universe could not ever separate the unspoken connection between twins. So, as he slowly coasted through the clouds, he listened but he could not console her. It didn’t help that she had hit pitches that made his ears ring.

“Wow! Your crying is annoying! Hey- Hey, you are way better than this, Mona-Lisa, remember when you got fired from Panera Bread because you kept calling those bear paw shaped donuts ‘handjobs’ because like, you know, bear paw, hand, funny joke, and you kept asking the customers if they wanted a handjob because it was on special? Did you give up then? No, you set that Panera Bread on fire! ...Look, Don’t cry! I promise you for realsies that I’m… looking out for you.”

That was a phrase he pulled out of his ass just then, because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t see his sister. It did bring a memory to the front of his mind. He remembered it so vividly, and it was a little jarring, since he hadn’t thought about it in such a long time since it had been kind of a bummer.

He remembered being pretty young when his mother came into his and Mona-Lisa’s room to kneel down in front of him and sadly inform him with a bow of her head that his grandfather, Dad’s Dad, had passed away.

“I know it’s sad, but you know, he was very old.”

Jean-Ralphio didn’t know him very well, and especially at this age he hadn’t quite internalized the way Dad would always get into heated arguments when the family got together. That was back when they still ate together like a family on the shabbat, which ended immediately after his grandfather had passed. Jean-Ralphio didn’t understand a lot of things at that age, and death had just skyrocketed to the top of the list. 

“Why’d he have to die though? Isn’t that… not good?”

“It’s very not good, Jean-Ralphio. It means we can never visit him again. But you know, I believe…” And she would look so sad and whimsical all at the same time as she said it, “That he’s out there somewhere looking out for us.” She raised a finger and booped Jean-Ralphio’s nose. 

It was at that point that Mona-Lisa decided it was her turn to chime in with a harrowing, “It’s not fair! People shouldn’t ever have to die! What’s the whole point of dying anyway? It’s stupid! It’s dumb and he's dumb for doing it.”

Jean-Ralphio remembered that Mona-Lisa threw a lot of things that night, mostly at him and their mother, and did the whole kicking and screaming thing until she eventually wore herself out, but he wasn’t so sure she ever really got over it.

Why else did they live so fast?

Back to the present. By now Mona-Lisa had dried herself up of snot and tears and a long silence ensued before she said, “You’re are so mcfreaking stupid, you know that?” It’s dumb and he was dumb for doing it. “I’m like, so mad at you? Like, that girl at the party after Winona Ryder throws up on her shoes mad. I don’t even want the Tajikistan money anymore - it’s not fun when you’re not here.”

“Yo, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” He blinked slowly as the realization hit. “And I’m dead. You said the nicest thing you ever said to me after I died.”

“Like… I’m not even gonna lie, I miss you already. It’s so weird and quiet and it’s really messing with my vibes right now and I just need somebody to make loud noises so it doesn’t feel like a funeral all the time.”

“I miss you too.”

“Anyway, I have to dip. It’s been real. I… have to go see Deadpool 4 with my girlfriends later. I hear it’s got a lot of tasteful shots of Ryan Reynolds’ tightass buttcheeks, so, you know, pretty busy.” She tried to laugh, but she choked a little bit in the process. “Smell you- smell you later… loser.”

Just then, he felt something bump against his shoulder, but when he whipped around to look for the bird he just iced, he saw no evidence of a collision, he rubbed at it as the phone call ended abruptly. 

He didn’t know why he kept getting these missed connections. It seemed like every time someone called him, or he called someone, they couldn’t hear him. It was hard, you know? To sit back and listen while someone seemed to desperately want to talk to you and here they were talking to you but they seemingly had no idea. 

So, using that braincell of his that bounced around his head like a Windows screensaver, he tried to deduce how this all worked. The first time it happened, he called Leslie and she picked up. Did that mean that Mona-Lisa called his number? Did this phone have the same cell number as the one he had while living? 

By now he’d observed that his phone didn’t appear to have internet access. No matter how many times he tried to open Twitter or the App Store, nothing happened. It just wouldn’t respond. Therefore he had no idea if he could contact anyone except through direct phone calls. Messenger wasn’t opening either, so no texts. Just calls. He didn’t know why, but he accepted that as just another rule of the universe that he didn’t understand.

While all of this was happening he had failed to realize that a little bit like Icarus and his wings of wax, he was no longer sailing high in the sky, but instead hurdling rather quickly to the ground. At first he was incredibly fearful, thinking ‘Oh God, this is it, this is the end’ before he realized the end had already happened for him. So that free-falling feeling was just a little comforting as he tumbled on downwards at maximum speed. 

Within a moment or two, his body collided with the water and FORK did that hurt worse than a thousand belly flops. In reality, landing in water isn’t as easy-peasy lemon-squeezy as it is in Minecraft. It hurts like hell and if he were alive he probably wouldn’t be.

The water was cold but in a sort of weird way, relaxing. He found within only a moment or so of panic that he was unable to breathe under the cold depths, but he also discovered that he did not need to. He was dead, after all. It was inviting, this sort of watery blanket which fully enveloped him. The water was a glittery blue, and he could see the sun sparkle at the water’s surface. Somewhere, muffled by the water in his ears, he heard a peculiar noise. Checking his phone which he definitely deduced was waterproof now, it was evidently not the source of it. What was that distant, steady beeping?

As the water swept him closer and closer to the lake’s edge, he was too occupied with the steady beep ringing in his ears to even notice that he was no longer alone. When he scraped along against the shallow end, and finally unsubmerged from the water, he could not hear it anymore, though more importantly he was now covered in sand and tiny rocks and a lot of cold water. 

“You good?” A familiar voice asked. Mark. He was standing by the edge of the lake with his jeans rolled up to his knees, no shoes, and a couple half-empty Bud Lights resting on a nearby rock. “I saw you fall out of the sky. Thought… Man, that’s weird, but we’re dead so I guess it’s fine.” He had a fishing pole which currently had a severely tangled line which he was struggling to fix. 

“I am a-okay, my dude.” Jean-Ralphio flopped around like a fish for a moment or two, struggling to flip over so he could look at Mark better, but he did not get up, merely allowed the gentle waves of the lakefront to hopefully wash all this forking sand off of him. “Yo, you fish?”

“No.” Mark replied. “But I figured I’d start. I don’t have anything better to do.”

“Have you tried flying? It’s pretty sick once you get over the potentially falling to your death and turning into a giant bloody people-pancake. But I guess I’m dead so it doesn’t count.”

“I don’t think flying is really ‘my thing’ - you know? Wasn’t a huge fan of heights when I was alive.”

“Uh, yeah, but wasn’t that because you were afraid of dying ‘cause you fell from a spectacularly lethal height? Good news! We’re dead, so it doesn’t count.”

“You keep saying that. I wish you’d stop saying that.”

“Uh, yeah? We’re dead! We’re like, super duper dead, that is just a factamundo of this beach of a world, my friend.”

“Yeah. But I still wish you’d stop saying it.”

“Ohhhh, is someone in-” He raised his hand to the side of his face, “Deniiiiaaaaaal? Yo, beach, same, ‘cept I’m smooth sailing in acceptance by now. It definitely doesn’t freak me out at all.”

“Look, I don’t even know how I died. Michael said he erased my memory of it because it was either too embarrassing or tragic.”

“He said that to me too! Didn’t you ask him what happened? That’s what I did! I was-” More sing-song emphasis on the next words, “Run over by a Prius!”

“Dang. A Prius. That’s pretty tragic.”

“I know, right?”

“I didn’t ask Michael what happened because I didn’t want to know.”

“So… why are you beaching about it now? Sounds like this was your own fault for not asking, m’guy.”

“I just didn’t want to know right then! It was kind of a stressful moment for me. I mean… dying is a big deal. And I wasn’t even that old.” He huffed a little, running a hand through his hair. He’d been lucky enough not to have gone bald, but it was definitely thinner and dustier than it had been the last time he set foot in Pawnee. Though the salt and pepper was more prominent in his facial hair than the stuff on top of his head. “Okay, fine, maybe I was that old. But I wasn’t that old. I always thought I was going to die peacefully in my sleep when I was old and ready to go. Isn’t that what everyone wants?”

“I always wanted to get launched into space so I could explode in the atmosphere and make dope meat confetti for everyone on Earth.”

“You’re forked up, you know that?”

“Yeah, I get that a lot.”

“Okay, fine, but did you really want to get launched into space when you were - ,,, how old are you?”

Jean-Ralphio rubbed at his face, wishing he could smooth out some of the more prominent lines. “Uhh, how young can I get away with? Thirty-five?”

“Yeah, no.” He shook his head.”

“Thirty-seven?”

Mark just gave him a look of vague disapproval. 

“Thirty-nine. I was thirty-nine. My birthday was in like, two months, so I guess it’s a good thing I got wasted by a Prius when I did because if I hit forty… I think I might’ve killed myself.”

He gave a humorless laugh. “It’s not so bad being forty. Trust me, sometimes I looked in the mirror and thought, ‘God, I wish I was still forty!’ Wait- wait… you’re not joking, are you?”

Jean-Ralphio did not respond, unless the ‘hup’ noise he made when rolled onto his back and swung his legs up and pulled himself to his feet was meant to be an acknowledgement.

“I knew you were one of those live fast, die hard types, but-” 

“Chill, chill, chill, I didn’t actually mean it.” If he was being honest, the words kind of surprised even him. They’d spilled out unconsciously, he hadn’t meant it as a joke, but he didn’t know if he meant it at all. Yeah, it didn’t matter now because there was no where to go but up, but Jean-Ralphio didn’t like to think about the existential. So he didn’t. 

“So, you headed back to your place?”

“Don’t you wanna know how you died?”

“What- what are we gonna do, go up ask Michael?”

“Uh, no, did you forget we have a bangin’ real life Alexa? Janet!” 

“Hello Jean-Ralphio.” Janet greeted, popping up from her void. “Hello Mark.” She was as vaguely happy as ever. “What can I do for you today? Do you need more jello shots?”

“Not this time, Janet, I gotta very important question to ask you. I wanna know how this guy-” He gestured to Mark, “Kicked the bucket. C’mon, I bet it was cool!”

“Okay.” She replied, turning to face Mark directly. “You, Mark Brendanawicz-”

“Okay, okay, that’s enough of that. That’s enough of that. I don’t want to know.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m sure. I’m kind of not ready yet.”

“Okay!” And then without another word, Janet blipped out of existence. 

Mark stood there, watching as she did, though not quite looking Jean-Ralphio in the eye. He didn’t want to know what happened to him, he decided, not now at least. Because if he knew what had happened there would be no denying that it did. Maybe he was in denial. 

“Okie dokie, Marky-Mark, you wanna come over to my place? Lana’s usually not around so the place is usually empty. My bed spins!”

And so the two of them made the long trek back to Jean-Ralphio’s dream house, which still didn’t quite feel like home. However, Jean-Ralphio was incorrect this time in assuming that Lana wouldn’t be in like she usually wasn’t, and was instead greeted by her usual sort of deadpan face as she stood alone in the living room, television remote in hand. She clicked the television off quickly, and turned to her ‘soulmate’ and his guy friend. “Oh! Hey, Jean, I was just-” She looked him up and down with a curious eye. “Do I wanna know?”

He was still pretty damp from the event in the lake. “I fell in the lake!” He proudly proclaimed.

“I’m guessing Mark had to fish you out.” She noted the still-tangled fishing rod which he’d been awkwardly fiddling with the whole walk back. 

“Ha, yeah.” Mark was somewhat embarrassed by his lack of fishing prowess. “I was just wondering if I could… you know. Stay here for a little bit. Jean-Ralphio invited me to… hang out? Do people still say that?”

“It’s his house, you know, not mine. Mine’s on the other side of The Neighborhood.”

“Why don’t you stay there, then?”

“Too quiet.” She stood there for awhile, among two men that she hardly knew, and she hugged herself lightly, rubbing her elbows. “So, you want something to drink?”

“Oh, no, I had a few before I came.” Mark noted, though he didn’t feel too inebriated. In fact he felt painfully sober. This was not preferable.

“I’m not offering you alcohol.” She said. “Jean and I have an agreement that there aren’t going to be any intoxicating substances in here for safety and sanity’s sake.”

“It’s Jean-Ralphio,” The aforementioned ‘Jean’ butt in. “I don’t like it when you call me Jean.”

“Aw, a little bit can’t hurt. It’s not like he’s an alcoholic or anything, right?”

“No, but he has a really addictive personality. I don’t want him falling back into his old habits. This is supposed to be paradise, and I don’t think he should be poisoning his body like that.”

“He’s an adult, I’m pretty sure he can make his own decisions.”

“Uh, yeah,” Jean-Ralphio slid into the conversation. “And he’s also right here. Can we talk about something else?”

“Look, I’m just trying to look out for my soulmate! You know, when I was alive, I-”

“You know what? It’s not really your business what he does. You don’t even live here.”

Jean-Ralphio looked in between them, each of them simultaneously trying to advocate for him, but neither fully acknowledging his presence. He felt rather small in that moment, like when he was a kid and Mom and Dad would talk about him and Mona-Lisa even though they knew that they could hear them. Mommy and Daddy are fighting again. 

“This blows,” He said eventually. “I’m going to my room.” And so he did, without even allowing them to protest or ask him why he was ditching them in the living room, he made the long trip up the stairs to his room, and collapsed onto the perpetually spinning bed, face down, still a bit damp but not really giving a shirt.

“This is so sad,” He said, muffled into the plush covering of his bed. “Janet play ‘Turn Down For What’ by DJ Snake and Lil Jon.”

Janet appeared in his bedroom and opened her mouth unnaturally wide, the song blaring loudly from somewhere within her. She did this wordlessly and without greeting or protest.

Fire up that loud  
Another round of shots

Turn down for what?

“You know,” He said, “I told Tommy T that this better be on my Funeral Jamz mix if I die before he does. ‘Course, I always thought he was gonna die first because he was shorter, but you know… if he didn’t play this at my funeral I’m gonna be hella pissed when he gets up here. Janet-”

“Yes?”

“Did Tom play this at my funeral?”

Janet seemed to search some kind of internal database to answer that question. “No. Tom did not go to your funeral.”

This absolutely gutted him. “Whaaaat? What do you mean he didn’t go to my funeral? I am so going to throw hands with that biznatch when- oh hey! I can say biznatch!”

She continued searching for the answers he desired, attempting to make him happy. “If it makes you feel better, he didn’t go to your funeral because you didn’t have one.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better at all!”

“Oh.” She didn’t seem to understand why that was the case. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I can’t find any records of your death at all.”

“That’s even worse!”

“In fact, I can’t find any evidence that you’re even dead. According to your files, you should have died but I can’t locate a gravesite or records of a funeral service.”

Jean-Ralphio should have been able to put it together then, as she had basically spelled it out for him. But instead he was just rocked with this overwhelming sense of unease believing that nobody even bothered to mourn him. No gravesite, no funeral. He was probably in a lab somewhere, he thought, not realizing he had to be registered in order to become an organ donor. So he sat there with this empty sort of realization. If Mona-Lisa supposedly missed him so much, why’d she let this happen to him? What about Dad? Tom? Leslie?

Suddenly, the phone in his pocket started ringing. “Hold on, gotta take this.”

Janet tilted her head to the side. She didn’t fully understand who would be calling him. There were no phones here. Yeah, she gave him the phone, but she thought it’d be to play Angry Birds or something.

The number belonged to Tom, he knew that. “Whoa! Tommy T! You have no idea how happy I am to hear from you, man, I thought I was a goner for sure. Dude, you gotta help me. I dunno where I am and I’m lowkey freaking out. Okay, highkey freaking out.”

Jean-Ralphio was hit with the sinking realization that just like before, the person on the other end couldn’t hear him. “C’mon, this can’t end up like last time. Can you hear me? Hello? Earth to Haveford! C’mon… I’m in real hot water. I dunno what’s going on. I think I might be dead.”

But there was no answer. “Tommy, come on… Tommy? Tom? Tom? Fork… Not again” And with that, Jean-Ralphio hung up. He had no way of knowing that at that exact moment, Tom Haverford would straight up loss.png his way into Jean-Ralphio’s hospital room, only to find him right where he left him, feeling like he’d seen a ghost. 

Disheartened, Jean-Ralphio remained quiet for once in his life, nibbling at the fingernail on his pinky finger.

Janet, however, seemed surprised given her general lack of emotions. “Huh.” She said. “That’s weird. Tom’s not dead and he was able to call you from Earth. That is literally not possible. You should not be able to contact anybody who’s still alive. This has never happened before in the history of the universe.”

“Maybe I’m not supposed to be here! Maybe I’m supposed to be somewhere else, someplace that isn’t the Good Place.”

“That’s impossible. There have never been any mistakes about placement.”

“What if I’m still alive? What if I’m down there somewhere and I can’t reach my body, and you know, maybe I could just jump back into it like the movie with the dogs.”

“That’s impossible. If a living person were to cross over to the Good Place through their unconscious mind, there would be comatose people absolutely all over the place. And that would just be weird.”

“Then maybe I’m supposed to be in the Bad Place instead. Maybe this is all some kinda wacky punishment for being a total dipshit on Earth. Come on Janet, you gotta help me figure this out! Come ON, dude, I’m desperate here! I am basically begging!”

Suddenly he got a message on his phone, just a little blip, “Oh, hold on, gotta check this-” He hoped it’d be from Tom or his sister or someone else he recognized, but instead the messages laid out before him on his small cell phone screen were much more ominous. He didn’t recognize the number.

So you probably don’t belong here, but neither do I.  
Meet me in front of the froyo place if you want a good time.  
But not that kind of good time! Honestly, not sure why I wrote it like that.  
Also, how cool is it that I landed that rhyme? I wasn’t even trying.   
lol  
-xoxoxo, A Friend In Low Places


	5. Treat Yo Self

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seeing that Tom could use some well deserved R&R after the accident, Donna brings back Treat Yo Self in an effort to cheer him up. Meanwhile, Tom has a lot of other things to worry about.

Tom honestly wasn’t sure what he expected to find here. Yeah, it was the same dry, cracked concrete as everywhere else in Pawnee. The road was just as riddled with potholes and strange smells and stains from spilled slushies or a bad night on the town’s particularly smelly evidence, but he knew that this must be the place. About, like, twelve paces from the front of City Hall, and he spent more time than he would like to admit squinting at the road to see if he could identify evidence of Jean-Ralphio once having been hit here. There was none. No blood, no impression on the road, everything was just as if it never happened. 

He rubbed his eyes. Why did he come here again? Oh, right. Well, about three hours ago he got a phone call from Jean-Ralphio. About three hours ago, and at this current time, Jean-Ralphio was still at Pawnee hospital, kinda comatose, and definitely not making any calls. Tom had been surveying this area for awhile now, trying to find Jean-Ralphio’s cellphone, which he was pretty sure he was holding when the incident occurred. Which like, meant he probably threw it somewhere.. He was sure that someone must have taken it since then and was tormenting him somehow for… some reason. That had to explain the phone call, right? Totally not the symptom of a nervous breakdown or anything. It was pretty sound logic. If JR’s phone wasn’t here, that must mean someone has it. And lo and behold…

In a puddle of somewhat oily water, seeping into a storm drain, about twenty paces from where Jean-Ralphio was hit, an iPhone with a bedazzled phone case lay face down and cracked, almost nearly dropping into the sewer below. Tom made a disgusted noise immediately, picking it up by the corner and wiping it on his pants. Yeah, the screen was totally busted, and the thing didn’t seem to be turning on. So, that eliminated that theory. It was disconcerting, right? He felt like he had to ask someone if he was crazy. He definitely got a call from Jean-Ralphio and it was definitely from this phone’s number. 

As if by some kind of divine intervention, Tom’s own phone began to ring. Lucy. He took a deep breath, and tried to feign his usual unbothered and smooth persona. “Ayo, Lucy! What’s goin’ on, boo? I’ve been waiting to call you.”

“Hey… Tom.” She cleared her throat on the other end. She sounded sort of tired, like she just woke up, or maybe like she hadn’t slept. Had they both been waiting for the other to wake up? “Are you coming home or what? I know Pawnee has quite the allure but uh- you know, getting a little lonely here all by myself.”

“Psh, don’t worry about it babe, it’s just a long drive, and things went pretty late over here. Did you hear Leslie’s gonna run for Governor? Ben and her are moving back to Pawnee, so’s Ann and Chris, and…” Lately he’d been sort of tempted to head back home. Your best friend being in a coma will do that to you.

“That’s really cool! So, you thinking of going back too or something?”

“No way, I’ve put this place behind me. There’s nothing for us here in Pawnee.”

“I get it, it’s just going to be tough with all of your friends in another state.”

“Ugh, tell me about it. Why can’t they all just move to wherever I want to live? Which is, ideally, on a privately owned island somewhere in the Caribbean.”

“Ha. Okay, here’s the plan. We buy a private island and invite all your friends onto it and one by one we vote them off like Survivor. The losers have to swim back. I bet that Chris could do it, he has a body of a god.”

“Yeah…” Who hasn’t had gay thoughts? Anyway! Back to the matter at hand. “Hey, Luce, I actually have something else to tell you and it’s really important, actually.”

“Oh, cool, I actually have something to tell you too. But you go first!”

“Uh,” He looked at the phone in his hand. Not the one he was calling on, but the other one. “There was kind of a- uh-” How did he put this lightly? He never had to do one of those ‘we need to talk’ conversations before. He was usually on the other side of them and he usually just plugged his ears and started singing so he didn’t have to hear anything that was kind of a bummer. “Accident?”

“Oh, shit, are you okay? For future reference, dude, you probably should open with that. Now I feel weird about what I was going to say.”

“It wasn’t me.”

“Oh. Still shoulda opened with that. What happened? Is everyone okay? Judging by your suddenly really grim tone I’m going to assume not.”

“Jean-Ralphio got hit by a car.”

“Again?”

“Yeah, again. If he had a nickel for every time he got hit by a car as long as I’ve known him it’d be three nickels which isn’t a lot of money but it’s super weird that it’s happened three times!”

“So, is he okay?”

“No.”

There was a long pause on Lucy’s end, “Oh my god, is he dead? Tom… seriously, you need to open with ‘my best friend is dead,’ you can’t just-”

“He’s not dead either.”

“Oh. Okay-” She breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay, scale of one to ten, how bad is it? One is like, totally fine, ten is extremely dead.”

Tom considered this for a long time. “I dunno, like an eight? Nine?”

“Damn, nine’s not good. So what’s going on?”

“He hasn’t like, you know… woken up yet. He’s in the hospital. And he’s alive and stuff! But, Luce, babe, boo, I feel really bad, you know, I kinda told him to fuck off right before it happened.”

“Well, he did fuck off.”

“He fucked off way too hard, Lucy!”

“Yikes. This is really… yikes. Um, so I guess that means you’re gonna stay there for a bit? Do you want me to head down there? Are you still at the hotel? Where are you staying? We can stay in Pawnee for as long as you want.”

“You don’t have to come down here, boo…”

“...But you really really want me to, right?”

“But I really really want you to!”

“Cool. I’ll catch the next flight down there.”

“So, uh, what were you gonna tell me?”

“Oh! Uh… maybe we should just wait until I’m down there for me to tell you. The vibes are like, really tense in this call and I don’t want to make it like a hundred times weirder. You know?”

“Come on… is it good news or bad news?”

“Uh.” She laughed nervously. “Depends on how you want to look at it. It could be really really good news, or really really bad news depending on like, a lot of factors… and I know we’ve talked about this before, but this kind of came up out of nowhere.”

“C’mon, boo, it can’t be that bad. What is it?”

“Well… God, this is the most awkward conversation I’ve had in my life, I think, but I’m kind of-” She wished she could have said this to him under literally any other circumstance in the world. “So, I’m pregnant.”

Tom was very quiet for a rather long time. This was maybe the worst thing that had ever happened to him in his entire life except for maybe every other terrible thing that had happened to him. I mean, the moment he proposed to Lucy eight years ago he had just gotten out of a weird not-quite fight with him where he… among other things, accidentally told Ron that he wouldn’t mind living on an island with Lucy and having a bunch of kids. Were those his exact words? He wasn’t totally sure. For the last eight years he’d been nothing but careful and safe so as to avoid the kind of weird not quite fight he had with Lucy about the fact that she didn’t really want kids. 

That was eight years ago. Since then, Tom had been pretty iffy about the whole idea in weird accidental retaliation against a small not-really dispute literally years ago. He kept saying things like ‘What is this going to do to my career?’ and ‘Are you sure we’re ready?’ But Lucy kept saying things like ‘You literally work from home’ and ‘I’m not getting any younger.’ And Lucy understood. She didn’t do it on purpose, he knew that. Accidents happen. Baby-sized accidents. And you know, maybe he was ready to have children. Maybe he really wanted to have a baby Haverford to continue the legacy. But you know what? You know what? Now? Right now? Not the best time. In fact it was completely fucking not the right time for this. Lucy knew that. Tom knew that. But there were no takesies-backsies because in nine months this could either be over or Jean-Ralphio would be dead, but this was their future, not their present.

Eventually he found words to speak, but it was probably not the right thing to say. “Whoa.” He said, taking a small gulp.

“Yeah, big whoa. I’m sorry you have to find out like this. I wanted to wait, but…”

“...Yeah. Look, you don’t have to come down if you don’t-”

“I’ll be fine. Look, the Haverford legacy doesn’t continue for, ideally, nine-ish months, so… we have awhile to figure this out. We do want to figure this out, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. I wanna- I want to. I want to do this but, this is maybe the worst time in the entire world to be telling me something like that, boo.”

“I feel you. Maybe when things are less crazy I’ll tell you again.”

“Cool. I’ll act surprised. I’ve already been workin’ on my surprised face for just the occasion so we can send out the surprise baby announcement Snapchat.”

“Sick. Uhhh, so I should probably start packing, huh? You gonna be okay if I hang up?”

“Like I said, don’t worry about me. All my friends are down here anyway, if I need someone I’ll just hit them up.

“Alright, well, I love you, okay?”

“Love you too, boo-boo.”

Click.

Tom Haverford should, by all means, have been overjoyed in that moment. Sometimes, though, things in life just intersect in the worst of ways, and something should have been really happy was really sad. It was confusing. He slumped down on the sidewalk, turning over the broken bedazzled phone in his hand. God, he needed some good old R&R.

As if on cue, an oh-so familiar Mercedes Benz rolled down the street and right up in front of him. Tom didn’t know why, but something about the sight of an approaching car kind of made him uneasy these days. He pocketed both phones quickly and watched as the window rolled down, and Donna Meagle leaned her head out just enough to say, “Get in, Haverford. We’re going shopping.”

He knew better than to protest, Donna’s intuition always stronger than his own, and he hopped into the suspiciously empty seat at shotgun. He said, “No Joe?”

“Joe’s a no show.” She said, “This is a Tom and Donna only event. Just like old times. Treat yo self.” 

“Uhhh,” He didn’t want to correct her, as he strapped in his seatbelt. “Hate to break it to you, Meagle, but Treat Yo Self isn’t for a couple months.” Eight years ago he and Donna had somewhat retired the ‘Treat Yo Self’ tradition as they once knew it. When Donna moved to Seattle they could no longer meet up for the special day, but they did always send each other pictures of the things they bought for themselves and their s/o’s, and celebrated Treat Yo Self as an echo of what it once was. 

“I know.” She shot back, “But how many times are we even on the same side of the country these days? Since we’re both in the same place at the same time, we deserve to bring it back. Especially you. Don’t think I don’t see you moping on the sidewalk. It’s not a good look for you. I thought you could use a little R&R.”

Okay, he had to admit it, hearing Donna say those sacred words after so long filled his stupid little heart with joy. A grin spread across his face, and he forgot all about the weird and horrible shit that had been going on the last few days. Sure, in the back of his mind he knew that Donna was probably doing this to take his mind off of all that, but all he cared about was getting to celebrate his favorite holiday with his like, third favorite person.

And it was going off without a hitch. Donna clicked a button on her phone and all their classic jams started playing far too loud from her car radio. They’d sway their heads in sync to the lyrics, both fast and slow, and they headed off to hit the town. 

Treat Yo Self was a day of spending, that was one thing they shared, and although Donna wouldn’t be partaking in the massage or the mimosas today (she was the designated driver, after all), they still cruise down the streets of Pawnee to scope out the stores they could crash. However, just for a moment, the two of them were dismayed that all of their favorite locations had seemed to be bought out or moved or closed. Tom watched as the old location for Rent-A-Swag coasted past them. Times change.

“Wanna just hit the mall?” Donna suggested. Even if it wasn’t extravagant, they could totally flex on the mallrats, which was a pretty noble quest in itself.

“Sure!” He was down for whatever at this point

Of course, the mall wasn’t the most luxurious of locations, but two nearly middle-aged besties had every right to enjoy the simple pleasures of the local mall. To trek those hallowed halls just like old times and bump to the music played through the shitty speakers, suck down something sugary in an oversized cup, and pig out on Panda Express - yes, that was treating yourself. Tom wondered if Ben ever wore that Batman costume again.

And oh, did they shop! Testing out strange and horrible smelling perfumes, jewelry, leather, stuff with sequins, all of that was treating yourself. Donna bought a new handbag. Tom bought some new sunglasses even though he didn't wear sunglasses very often since he got real glasses. He was like, 80% blinder with them on, but he felt like a king. 

This Treat Yo Self was one for the history books, both of them relishing in the mere idea of rest and relaxation in a stressful world. Sometimes you just needed a break from the bullshit around you, and all you needed to be happy were things. Items. Material goods. Consumerism. Tom always loved stuff. People come and go, but stuff was forever.

They didn’t care if they looked out of touch, because with age Tom was able to understand that old school was cool too, and Donna had always appreciated the finer things in life. Thing was, when Tom was in his twenties, stuff that was cool eight years ago seemed like old news and was no longer worth his time, but here he was approaching forty. Approaching forty, his tune had changed. It was because the things he thought were cool weren’t cool anymore, and it turned out that he didn’t like those things because they were new, he liked those things because he was in the right mind for them. So here he was, getting more excited when a several decade old song came on than a new one, because as it turned out the people he used to make fun of were acting on the very same impulses as him. 

They were checking out the fits at a clothing store. Tom would occasionally hold something up to him and Donna would either nod eagerly or shake her head disapprovingly. He’d dive into the dressing room and pop out like the movies, he’d spin and pose like he was a star. Their life had just shifted into montage mode.

There it was, a garment that caught his eye. It was colorful and he was looking for something bright enough to make his head spin. That was just the kind of mood he was in. When he pulled at the fabric, he expected to have pulled a really styling blazer but instead from the rack of tops he pulled out a scarf that some previous shopper had stuffed away instead of putting in the correct spot. It was bright and gaudy patterned. Honestly, it was kind of ugly. But it felt… familiar. Yes, there was something about this that felt so nostalgic. Like something Jean-Ralphio would wear.

He was immediately struck with this overwhelming, unexplainable emotion. Like, he never actually felt this decimated before. Tom had spent most of his life either being really happy or like, just a little sad. But here he was. God, he was almost forty, he kept thinking. And all it took was a scarf on a rack in a clothing store at the mall to destroy him. Why? He was better than this!

He hadn’t noticed until that moment what song was playing in that shitty little mall kiosk, somewhere around 2:30 PM in Pawnee, Indiana. 

I hope you know, I hope you know  
That this has nothing to do with you  
It's personal, myself and I  
We've got some straightenin' out to do

Shit. Fergie was playing. Maybe it was a guilty pleasure, maybe not, but he was suddenly filled with all of the sunny nostalgia of years past with the radio blaring or playing in mall kiosks or on elevators or from Leslie’s computer when he worked at City Hall, and he hadn’t even noticed until that exact moment how much he wanted to hear that song. Was it normal to not know how much you wanted something until it happened?

And I'm gonna miss you like a child misses their blanket  
But I've got to get a move on with my life  
It's time to be a big girl now  
And big girls don't cry

And suddenly his new sunglasses were filled with tears. At first there wasn’t any sound, but then it came all at once. He shook once and choked a little sob. He could not possibly believe that he’d be crying, full on, in the middle of the mall because he was thinking about Jean-Ralphio and fucking Fergie. Like, it wasn’t major. He didn’t cry earlier! He didn’t cry when it happened. He didn’t cry when he was at the hospital. Or when he left. He didn’t cry when he got the phone call from Jean-Ralphio. He didn’t cry when he came back and saw the place it happened for the first time. He didn’t cry when Lucy told him she was pregnant and he knew he couldn’t be with her. He didn’t cry then, so why now? What was special about this moment that was so cataclysmic that Tom Fucking Haverford was sobbing in front of some poor cashier at the mall. Big Girls Don’t Cry.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed at the back of his jacket, and he was being pulled away from the rack of clothes, though the scarf was still close to his person. In a flash, Donna had ushered him into the dressing room, and she followed inside with him. The cashier gave her a look. Donna shot one back, fire in her eyes. Nothing was said. 

Tom made a low sort of confused whining sound, before questioning, “What’re you doing?”

“Looking out for you.” Donna replied, making sure the door was closed. “Friends don’t let friends cry in the mall alone, Haverford. I was saving your ass. I know how much you care about your image.”

Tom felt rather shameful as he sat on the weird little bench thing in a dressing room with Donna Meagle, but he trusted her, and was honestly thankful she saved his ass back there. He didn’t want anyone to see him like that, and she knew that. “Thanks.” Was all he could really muster, a little bit of a sniffle immediately bubbling out of him.

A gentle knock was heard on the dressing room door. It was safe to assume it was the cashier, who instead of berating them for going into the dressing room together, it seemed her apprehension from earlier had disappeared, because she said tentatively, “Does anyone need any Kleenex?”

Donna looked down at Tom, a questioning look on her face. He shook his head. “We’re good.” Donna replied. 

“Just let me know if you need anything.” With that, the poor cashier walked away.

“You’re probably gonna need to buy that scarf.” Donna remarked, noting how he’d snotted on it just a little bit.

“I’ll give it to Jean-Ralphio.” He suddenly added the next bit, “When he wakes up, that is. It’d be kinda weird if I gave it to him when he wasn’t. Like, ‘Hey, dude, sorry you’re in a coma. Here’s a scarf.’ That’d be so weird.” He paused. “I should get a ‘Get Well Soon’ balloon - you think a store sells them around here?”

“Uh-huh.” Donna replied, forcing him to scoot a little bit so she could take a seat next to him on that weird bench thing. “I’m gonna tell you like it is. I never liked that guy. But I know he means a lot to you. I also know that he would not be cool with you getting down about him. I never saw him down about anything.”

“Donna,” Suddenly this dressing room had turned into a confessional. “I basically told him to fuck off right before it happened.”

“Why? I thought you two were pals.”

“Ugh, I dunno. I guess not anymore. I thought that having a friend like him was gonna hold me back from my career. I mean, he hasn’t changed at all since you met him. He’s the same goofy asshole who sings in people’s ears and doesn’t know how to read a room. And he does that thing with his hand - you know the thing? I always hated that.”

“Dissing a guy in a coma. That’s cold, Haverford. Even for you.” She was joking.

“But also at the same time. I saw on my phone- look… he sent me like, four voicemails the day it happened. He sounded kinda depressed. I never heard him like that before.” That was sort of a lie. He’d definitely seen him pretty dejected in the past. “So I feel really bad.”

“It’s not like you’re the one who ran him over, Tom. It’s okay not to like people in bad situations. Just ‘cause the guy got hurt doesn’t mean you have to still be his friend.”

“But what if I still want to be his friend?”

“Then still be his friend. This isn’t the playground. Adults have to make the decisions for themselves. Jean-Ralphio’s a dick. I’m not stopping you. You’re an adult and you can hang out with whoever you want. Besides, don’t you think he’s mellowed out over the years?”

“No way. He’s exactly the same. I didn’t know that a human being could be that consistent!”

“Really? Even I noticed it. The way he was darting around that party like he was lost. He hits different than he used to. Doesn’t change how I feel about him, but what's important is how you feel. So, you’re worried about your friend because he sounded off that night. Now he’s in a coma. Only you can decide whether or not to worry about it.”

“Dude, even if I did want to cut him off for good, I don’t want him to-” This was the first time he really considered it, that he might get an unfortunate call at any moment. The worst call of his life to date, and he had some pretty strong contenders. “...I don’t want him to die. If we were gonna break up, I’d just never want to see him again, not to kill him!”

“You didn’t kill him.”

“Yeah, but I was right there - I could’ve done something to stop it, right?”

“That’s not true. You did what you could. So what, he was fighting with you when it happened? It wasn’t your car, it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t push him, did you?”

“No.”

“Then it’s his own fault. Things don’t work like they do in the movies. If you ran up and jumped in front of the car to save him you probably both would’ve gotten wrecked. Or worse.”

“Yeah, but…” He mumbled the next part in an annoyed sort of tone. “Still feel bad about it.”

“I know.” She knew it was going to be hard for him. That’s why she came out here. She knew he was feeling bad and would tear himself apart if she didn’t intervene. Friends don’t let friends cry anywhere alone. “Just don’t beat yourself up about it.” She lightly patted his back. “You done crying?”

“Not really.” Oh, oops, a few more rolled down his cheeks, but these were mostly noiseless. “Why am I crying?”

“Because you haven’t slept in - what? Thirty hours? Your best friend, who you just had a massive fight with, got hit by a car and is currently comatose, and Big Girls Don’t Cry played on the radio, and I know how you feel about Fergie.”

“I love Fergie,” He commented before adding, “Also-” Sniffle. “Lucy’s pregnant.”

“You want me to be happy or sad about that?”

“Happy? Pretty please?”

Donna put on a surprised face. “Aaaaaa!” She wrapped her arms around him, her hug a little too tight, but she really was happy for him. She pulled away immediately. “That is great for you two.” Donna never had kids, and didn’t ever want them, but she was proud to be an honorary wine aunt to every offspring the Parks crew produced. She honestly thought they’d never have any. Which was fine. It was cool not to as well, and she knew that from experience. Plus, her ship had sailed, and that was okay too. “But also, what the hell is that timing?”

“I know, right? Like, come on future Baby Haverford, couldn’t you wait a little bit? I’m kind of busy right now!”

“You got nine months, you know. If we’re lucky Jean-Ralphio will wake up in time for you to name me godmother.”

“Who said you were gonna be the godmother?”

She gave him a rather pressing look. 

“You’re right. You’re always right.”

“I know I am.”

“It just sucks I can’t be over there. She’s gonna come down here and I feel really really bad for making her do that.”

“She’s pregnant, Tom. She doesn’t have the plague. She’s a responsible woman, she can handle herself.”

“I know,” He whined, “But I still feel bad. Like, I feel bad about so many things. I didn’t know I could feel bad about so many things at once! I used to never feel bad about anything!”

“It comes with age.” She knew from experience. “So, you want to get that balloon? Maybe a card too. The final phase of Treat Yo Self is getting you the closure you need - and some sleep. I’m telling you this because I’m your friend and I care about you, but you look horrible.”

“Do they make ‘sorry about your coma’ cards?” That was a genuine question.

“No idea. Let’s get out of here.” And so, the two of them peeled themselves off of the weird bench thing and set off to firstly pay for the stuff they got from this place, and set off to find a balloon and a card.

Tom was pretty disappointed in the selection of ‘get well soon’ cards. They were all really grim. With all the floral arrangements on white backgrounds, the tasteful cursive text and affirmations of love or thoughts and prayers. He knew Jean-Ralphio wouldn’t like any of these things. He meandered on to the birthday cards and other such events. Eventually he found a birthday card which did not explicitly indicate it was for birthdays. It had a cactus on the front and it played ‘Tequila’ when you opened it. Tom thought this was perfect. He and Donna then picked out a balloon. Eventually they settled on one shaped like the Laughing Until You’re Crying emoji. Excellent.

When they hopped back into Donna’s Mercedes, Tom realized there was one thing that he didn’t tell Donna. Treat Yo Self was all about emotional honesty this year, right? He wasn’t exactly sure how to go about telling her, since it sounded completely insane. So, he decided to cut the bullshit. As they sat motionless in the mall parking lot, he pulled out his phone and showed her the screen. Recent calls. Contact: Jean-Ralphio. This morning. Long after the accident. 

Donna stared it for a really long time, then looked Tom right in the eyes. If he had just told her this, she wouldn’t have believed it, but since he was showing her straight up, she almost did. “Where’s his phone?” 

“I have it.” He pulled it out of his pocket. Jean-Ralphio’s phone. She believed him. 

“You think he’s faking it?”

“No, I went there. He was definitely out.”

She turned to face the wheel, a weird feeling in her stomach. She always never believed in the paranormal or the supernatural, but even she had to admit that this was really weird and hard to explain. It couldn’t have been someone messing with him if the phone was here and broken. Unless someone smashed it since then. “Think someone could’ve smashed the phone between the phone call and now? Mona-Lisa might have done some freaky recording shit and is sending you spliced messages.”

Tom knew that couldn’t possibly have been the explanation, but he didn’t want to consider what the real answer could have been. “I don’t like her.”

“I know you don’t.”

When they rolled up to the hospital, they had separately but collectively decided to not think about the phone call for more than they needed to. Instead, they made the long trek through Pawnee hospital to the coma ward (yet again) to bring Jean-Ralphio the emoji balloon and the Tequila card. 

When they entered the hospital room, he was right where Tom had left him, and looking just about as out of it as usual. This of course was the first time Donna had seen him like this, and even she felt a little bad looking at it. It was sad, actually. It really was. Even if she didn’t like him, she didn’t think he deserved this. But she stayed in the doorway. This was Tom’s moment. 

“Hey. It’s me again.” He didn’t know why everyone spoke to coma patients like they could hear them. It didn’t cross his mind that he could. “I brought you a card and uh- a balloon. I know you can’t see it but the balloon’s shaped like an emoji and the card… well.” He opened it up and Tequila started playing. It was a really somber scene to be juxtaposed with the jaunty tune. It was probably the saddest occasion the card had ever been played for. “I’ll try to get the nurses to play it for you once in awhile, cause it must be really boring here.” He let the balloon go and it bonked against the ceiling, and the card was gently placed next to the bed on a little table thing. 

He stepped back, thinking for a moment that he could keep it cool, but he knew he couldn’t, and he moved forward again, and looked real close for awhile. He didn’t know what to say or do; he just… placed a hand on Jean-Ralphio’s arm and gave him a little pat. They weren’t ever very physical with each other in the real world. They were close friends, sure, but often did guy friends of their variety reject the notion of touch starvation. Why was it then he just really needed to feel him there? He wondered if he could feel it too. He’d hug him when he woke up. He knew that.“Come back to me soon. It’s super boring out here without you.”

With that he stepped away for real this time. He gave a good long look at the scene, the image burning itself into his mind. This was the saddest Treat Yo Self ever. Though maybe he needed this more than just buying his feelings away. He didn’t really want to leave, but he needed to get some real sleep, and he was finally starting to feel like he would be able to if he hit the bed. 

Exiting the room, the two of them planned on leaving the hospital and having Donna drop Tom off at the hotel, and Donna could go back to Joe at their own. But as they left the room, Tom nearly bumped into somebody, and stopped in his tracks. His stomach dropped.

“Oh, hello Tom. Donna.” Dr. Saperstein gave a little wave at the two of them, surprisingly amicable for someone who was often at odds with Tom and also was here to visit his comatose son. He was getting on in years, but evidently not retired yet. Maybe no one else in Pawnee was qualified to do ultrasounds quite like him. Tom decided very suddenly that he absolutely could not move back to Pawnee because it meant that Dr. Saperstein would be his and Lucy’s baby doctor, and he thought that even if Jean-Ralphio woke up tomorrow, that would be literally the most awkward thing in the history of human life.

That being said, it was still kind of horribly sad, right? Maybe he should say something. Tom was kind of panicking and just sort of blurted out, “Sorry for your loss!”

This raised two different sets of eyebrows. Donna’s because she was feeling an immense wave of second-hand embarrassment from the conversation Tom was currently having. The second was Dr. Saperstein’s who immediately craned his neck slightly to peek into the room to check if he’d just missed the last train to death town. “Wh-”

“He’s fine, Lu.” Donna said. “Well, as fine as a coma patient can be, I guess. Tom’s just an idiot.”

“Oh.” Dr. Saperstein breathed a sigh of relief. 

Tom’s face scrunched up in mild disgust and disbelief. “Donna, why are you on a first name basis with Dr. Saperstein?”

Donna rolled her eyes. “We’re not kids, Tom. What am I supposed to call him? Mr. Jean-Ralphio’s Dad?”

“Ah,” Mr. Jean-Ralphio’s Dad interjected, “It’s actually Dr. Jean-Ralphio’s Dad.”

Tom could not handle the situation for much longer, so he didn’t. “We were just heading out.” He took a few steps forward and gestured towards the room. “He’s all yours!” This was all before he began to speed walk away.

Donna followed at a normal pace. “He’s all yours?”

“What am I supposed to say?”

The two of them made a rather quick exit from the hospital. Tom felt better about the situation, even if he still felt really bad and was reconciling with the fact that he felt bad at all. Soon, he made it to the passenger’s seat of Donna’s Mercedes Benz and as soon as they were rolling out, his head rolled to the side and rested against the closed window. Sitting down for approximately thirty seconds was enough to put him to sleep. Donna smiled to herself. She was considering this Treat Yo Self a success, considering the circumstances.

Dr. Saperstein sighed to himself, standing at the entrance to Jean-Ralphio’s hospital room, the first time he’d managed to get here since the accident. This actually wasn’t the first time he’d been in this kind of situation. Yes, this was the first coma one of his children had found themselves in, but he had suffered through a multitude of hospital visits both great and small for the last… almost forty years. That’s a weird thought to have. You never stop getting amazed at just how old your children get, and just how old you get. 

Of course, it’d never been this bad before, and although his children keep getting older, they also keep getting hurt. Kind of a lot. It’s kind of stressful and he didn’t care for it one bit. It was usually Jean-Ralphio. From the very first broken bone (arm, result of bicycle related accident, never learned to ride one afterwards) to the concussion in sixth grade (soccer, never played again) to the two other times he’d been hit by a car (a Lexus and a Porche, first time minor injuries, second time a broken neck) and you know what? Unlike the bike and soccer, this kid just kept being dangerous in the road. The kids at school used to tell his son to play in traffic (who could blame them, honestly) but he didn’t think he’d take it literally!

And yes, it was very rarely ever Mona-Lisa who ended up with a visit to the hospital. Why was it always Jean-Ralphio? Was his son just accident prone?

He pulled up a seat, lucky there was a chair in here, and sat next to the bed. Honestly, he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say. These conversations never got easier. Not everything gets easy with age, and this was somewhere at the top of the list of things that don’t ever get easier. 

Honestly, in situations like these he felt horrible. He felt guilt for every single time he’d yelled at them, or tried to kick them out of the house, or jokingly asked every single one of his patients for the last thirty-five years if they wanted to adopt his ‘terrible children.’ He said some things he regretted. Especially to Jean-Ralphio, he felt. Mona-Lisa always got the ‘I know this and I love you’ when she claimed to have never wronged in her life, ever, but his son did not always receive the same treatment. Maybe he expected him to be better because he was the oldest (by several minutes), or what he once hoped to be the future man of the house, or because he didn’t think he quite lost hope in this one yet. Who was to say?

“Hey there, kiddo.” He greeted, though he knew he could not hear him. It didn’t cross his mind that he could. “How’re you holding up?” No reply.

Dr. Saperstein reached to pat his son’s shoulder, not realizing just how many shoulder pats his son has received in the last twenty-four hours.“Look, kid, I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry for… well, over the years I’ve been kind of harsh on you and your sister. And sometimes not harsh enough. You know it was tough. You two were nightmares.” He chuckled at that. “Seriously, I have a lot of recurring dreams about you two setting my house on fire, but… you’re my kids. And you’re my son, and I suppose that even if I tried, I couldn’t trade you for the world. Wouldn’t, I mean. Wouldn’t.” Okay, that was mean. 

Another long pause. It was way too quiet in here. Well, aside from the steady beeping. Which was like, annoying, but it was for the best that it kept that way. “I see your friends care a lot about you. They brought you…” He picked up and opened the card. Tequila. “Right.” He immediately closed it and set it down. “I guess I was too hard on that Tom too. I know he means a lot to you but… he’s not a very good businessman. His book was a good read, though. You should check it out. Though… not right now. Not right now.”

What do you tell your comatose thirty-something he doesn’t already know? “I tried to get a hold of your Mom. She’s a very busy woman, you know. Never wants to talk to me, even if it’s family emergencies like this. Hopefully she’ll get my messages. I wouldn’t count on it, but… she’s always soft when it comes to you two. Not so much me. I guess I don’t blame her.” It was a messy divorce. They liked to say they were on good terms now, but moments like these were evident that this was not the case. “She’ll come around eventually. She always does.”

What do you tell your comatose thirty-something he doesn’t already know? “It’s awful quiet these days. Without you two in the house. Without you in general, huh? I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss it. If I could go back in time… I’d get it right the next time around.”

What do you tell your comatose thirty-something he doesn’t already know? He took his son’s hand, rather put off by how lifeless it was. Though it was still warm, and that’s what counted. That he was alive. “I’m not going to give up on you. Just… get out of this soon. It’ll be less awkward for the both of us.” Maybe if he just said something nice for once this wouldn’t have happened. He always coddled and praised his kids but in the same breath had something nasty to comment. Some snarky remark. He told them he loved them all the time, but maybe he wasn’t saying it genuinely enough. “You know I love you, kid. Please, please just… get out of this as fast as you can.”

Jean-Ralphio’s hand tightened with remarkable force for someone who was not conscious. “Whoa-ho,” Dr. Saperstein practically fell out of his seat. “That was faster than I expected! Ralph, can you hear me buddy?” He was really anticipating the beautiful moment in which his son woke up and he’d get to go home and this would all be over with. Dr. Saperstein did not get that moment. Even after he dropped his son's hand in favor of shaking him ever so slightly, maybe gently tapping his cheek with his hand, he got a whole lot of nothing. “...Ah. Well-” You’re never too old for your voice to crack. “Well, take your time. Just… not too much time, okay? I’m not getting any younger.” 

With that he stood, knowing he had an appointment with an important patient soon enough, and regrettably he had to leave. His reasoning for allowing himself to do so was somewhere between ‘Well, I work in the hospital so if something goes wrong I’ll be here anyway’ and ‘He’s not going anywhere for awhile, is he?’ And that was that on that. But he did reach over for a last time, and ruffled his son’s hair. It was a Saperstein family trait to keep a full head of hair. They were both lucky in that. After one last goodbye, though certainly not his last ever (he hoped), he exited the hospital room. 

Lu Saperstein was raised in a pretty traditional Jewish household, but despite his upbringing very seldom did he ever turn to God for advice. As soon as he left that hospital room, though, he looked slightly upwards and wagged an accusatory finger at someone unseen, and said rather quietly, “If you take him now… he’s your problem.”


	6. Friends In Low Places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean-Ralphio gets acquainted with some people around The Neighborhood, and runs into some familiar but not-so familiar faces.
> 
> (NOTE: I have, for the sake of plot convenience because I can do that, rewritten the ending of Chapter 4, so I recommend that if you read Chapter 4 before 7/6/2020 that you re-read that before reading this one.)

So you probably don’t belong here, but neither do I.  
Meet me in front of the froyo place if you want a good time.  
But not that kind of good time! Honestly, not sure why I wrote it like that.  
Also, how cool is it that I landed that rhyme? I wasn’t even trying.  
lol  
-xoxoxo, A Friend In Low Places

This was the first time someone had texted Jean-Ralphio since the incident, and definitely the first time he’d been so urgently contacted by someone from the inside. Naturally, he trusted the anonymous individual, since very rarely did his gut ever tell him otherwise. He flitted about through life with a smile and a song for everyone he met. But other than his inherently trusting nature, he really had no choice but to trust them. For a few reasons. One, the only people he could confide in were a glorified Alexa and Mark Brendanawicz. Two, his only hope in figuring out what was going on were vague instructions on a cellular phone’s screen. Three, he was already dead, so what did he have to lose? It’s not like he had dignity or self-awareness. 

The problem with the vague instructions was that there really wasn’t a time or a place. ‘Meet me’ implied that they meant right now. But… froyo place? There were frozen yogurt places all over this neighborhood! How was he supposed to narrow down which one was which? So, instead of trying to solve the puzzle realistically, he just went with the easiest solution. He’d just have to check all of them. 

And check all of them he did, looking very strange for his own usual behavior since instead of immediately yelling absurdities at every single person he met, instead he sized them up, trying to figure out if they seemed like the kind of person who would still use ‘xoxoxo’ in the Lord’s year of 2025. Or whatever year it was. Time was kind of fake right now.

Then he saw it. Right above him, a large pastel-y colored sign with cursive font, simply labeled ‘The Froyo Place.’ If he had the intuition, he would have realized that the stranger had made an error. They hadn’t meant just any froyo place, they meant to capitalize the title to indicate it was a proper noun. 

Just his luck, upon a brief scan of the outdoor dining area, he saw something very special and surely the sign that they were his special friend. A woman with shoulder-length blonde hair, kind of short, and looking like she would be the kind of person to yell at a cashier for taking too long. Yes, the exact person who would use ‘xoxoxo’ in the Lord’s year of 2025. And also she was the only person here who also had a cellphone. 

“What is hippity-happening with the snaps-a-lackin’, Anonymous Lady Friend, I can’t help but notice you’re sitting here all alone and I just wanted to check in, make sure you don’t need any help from the Love Doctor for that beautiful heartbroken face of yours. They call me Mr. Love. Dr. Love is my father’s name. Actually, it’s Lu. But he is a doctor. Need anything, sweetheart?”

The woman immediately looked (admittedly rightfully) pissed off at his sudden advances at a The Froyo Place of all locations! “Hey, beat it, bozo. I’m not here to get hit on by some-” She paused, as if hit with a wave of realization, before making a soft sort of sighing noise and trying her best to politely say through grit teeth, “Sorry, I’m actually waiting for someone.”

Jean-Ralphio propped his elbows on the table, but he did not sit down, resting his chin in his hands. “You don’t belong here either, huh?”

“What?” Then another wave of realization hit her, this one causing her shoulders to slump and her face to fall in dismay. “Oh no. You’re not…”

“Uh-huh?”

“No way…”

“Yeah?”

She turned her phone around to reveal she was looking at the very same texting window, just from a different end. “You’re Jean-Ralphio Saperstein? Oh my god. I probably should have guessed from the… everything about you.” She lowered her voice. “Look. We can’t stay here. Michael likes to come around and order an ‘Unmitigated Joy’ around this time. If we want this to work, we have to book it before he catches us.”

“Got it, got it- yeah, gots to keep it on the-” And he leaned down, gesturing with his hand, whispering the next line, “Down. Low.” Before springing back upright. “Tight. Can I order a froyo for the road, though? My tumblies are doing some mad rumblies.”

“Go for it, dude.”

After glancing at the specials, he strode inside and asked for a nice cold ‘Second Kiss, First Is Awkward.’ He had absolutely no idea what that tasted like, but he was yearning. 

When they were safely at what he was informed was Eleanor’s house, Jean-Ralphio took in another spoonful of his froyo, noting it to taste like every long term relationship he had ever had, and a little bit like honey.

“So, now that we did that thing where we wait until we’re in another location to break the weird, awkward travel silence to talk about exposition-y stuff, my name’s Eleanor Shellstrop. Yes, everyone here knows that, but what they don’t know is that I’m not supposed to be here. In the Good Place, I mean. I think there had to have been some kind of… mix up in the deciding process, because I was kind of a trash bag on Earth, apparently.”

“Sooooo, not the be like, rude or anything, Eleanor - you got any nicknames? Like… Ellie, or El, or uh, E? Heheh, E. Point is, kinda hate the name Eleanor, and it’s really boring on you. How do you feel about being called Leslie? No, that’s weird. Just kidding. Unless? No. Forget I said that.”

“Eleanor’s fine. Are you okay?”

“Nope.”

“Cool. So you definitely get what I’m getting at here, right dude? This whole ‘we both don’t belong in the Good Place’ thing?’”

“So how’d you figure out I was a trash bag too? Not saying I was a trash bag, but like, you know, for the sake of the uh- thing. If I was a trash bag, what about- uh, what about me gave it away?” He gestured lightly to his face.

“I asked Janet if there was anyone else here who wasn't having a good time. I thought - fork, if we’re in paradise then everyone’s supposed to be happy. And she gave me three names, and you were one of the ones I didn’t recognize. She gave me Chidi, who sometimes lives here, so that didn’t help me. She gave me Tahani al-Jamil, which… woof. And she gave me some dude named ‘Jason Mendoza’ who’s actually pretty cool but like, wow, you know? So I texted you because you apparently have a phone, smart thinking by the way, and I had Janet give Jason a note. You were the last one to contact me.”

“Cool, cool. So, we have a plan? Like, I get if you want to bust out of this place and take a getaway car back to Earth, but I have an eternal no-driving policy after a Prius rammed into me and made my insides collapse in on themselves. So. You know. Nose it.” He put a finger to his nose, the international symbol for shirking responsibility. 

“You were hit by a Prius? Tragic. Apparently, I got rammed too. By shopping carts. And a truck. You know, thinking about it, it’s probably more important to mention the truck first and not the shopping carts. But it was a total freak accident.”

“Yo, me too! I was goin’ back and forth with my pal, Tommy T, and I just kinda- kabloosh… and I didn’t even die at first. Hey, you been getting any weird phone calls lately?”

“No, how would I? Aren’t we the only two people who have cellphones?”

Just Jean-Ralphio’s luck, right as he was about to drop his explanation of the weird shit that had been happening over the past few days, there were unidentified footsteps in the house, and some nerd with glasses and a sweater vest said something like, “Hey Eleanor, who… is this?” With an uncertainty in his voice, like he felt like they’d just been exposed of something.

“Oh, this is Jean-Ralphio. He’s a reject like us.”

“Like you.” The nerd replied.

“Yeah, that’s what I said. Basically, he’s pretty sure he was a trash bag on Earth too and doesn’t deserve to be here either. I think we should help him.”

“Did he, um-” He looked him up and down, noting the style of clothing and the everything else about him. “Ask for help?”

“Well, no, but-”

“What kinda help are we talking, hombre? Like I said, nose it on the getaway car. Jean-Ralphio Saperstein, by the way. Loving the nerd look on you, dude, nerds are like, sexy now. Good for you.” He took the man’s hand and shook it vigorously. “Look at that! Still calling dudes sexy too, because dudes are sexy too, and I am-” He poked the other man’s chest, winking, “Very lonely.”

“Whoa-ho-ho,” He exclaimed somewhat nervously, “Wow. Wow! Uh, sorry, I’m not gay.”

“That’s okay, baby, neither am I.”

“I’m not bisexual either.”

“Oh come on, why not?” Eleanor said. “I think more people should be bisexual in general, as a rule. Like, best of both worlds, baby.” She and Jean-Ralphio immediately shared a rather enthusiastic high-five.

“Well, I’m just not, okay? I’m going to ask you two to please respect that.”

“No worries, I got you.” Jean-Ralphio backed off from that point. 

“Now that that’s out of the way, I don’t think I actually even told you my name. I’m Chidi Anagonye, I’m technically Eleanor’s soulmate, but we don’t really-”

“Yeah, we’re like super not a thing. It’s more of a professional, like, mentor type situation, except we’re the same age and there’s no power dynamic, he’s just smarter about ethics and I’m smarter about The Price is Right. Oh, yeah, Chidi, is it okay if Jean-Ralphio joins our ethics classes?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hey, hold on, I’m not picking up what you guys are throwing around, you guys are just going boom boom boom on each side of my head, and I have no idea what you’re talking about. Huhwha? Ethics? Dude, I’m not here to get told how I should and shouldn’t live my life. I just want to get out of here.”

“You can’t leave. We tried everything. There’s no way out of this place, and if Michael finds out we’re all big old bags of garbage we’re going to get sent to literal hell, so, you know, your choice, buddy.” 

“Ugghghggghghgh.” Jean-Ralphio groaned. “This sucks major toes.” To which he was met with several vaguely concerned glances. “No. No way. I’m oughtie. I thought you guys were going to help me out of here, but turns out you just wanna lecture me. So, smell you later, losers. I’ll catch you on the uh-flipside!” He did that little hand-to-mouth gesture before spinning around quickly on his heels and turning away, right out of Eleanor’s house. Where was he supposed to hide now? He didn’t want to go back to the house and talk to Lana, didn’t want to stay here and talk to Eleanor. He had no where else to go.

So he hiked off a small distance into the forest behind Eleanor’s house, and sat under a nice big tree. He sat there for a long while, throwing rocks at a tree in front of him, or peeling bark off of the one he was leaning against, or kicking up the dirt a bunch with his shoes. 

Then his phone started ringing.

“Hey. It’s me again.” That was Tom’s voice on the other line. “brought you a card and uh- a balloon. I know you can’t see it but the balloon’s shaped like an emoji and the card… well.” Tequila started playing.

This definitely lifted up Jean-Ralphio’s spirits, but there was something he didn’t understand - card? Balloon? Not great gifts for a dead guy. Slowly he was starting to come to this realization that something was happening out there beyond what he understood. He just couldn’t figure out what. It was so obvious, it was right there in front of him, but yet he just couldn’t put two and two together. 

And you know what? Maybe he would have been totally fine with it if he hadn’t been for what he heard next, a few minutes later. His father’s voice.

“Hey there, kiddo. How’re you holding up?” A short pause. “Look, kid, I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry for… well, over the years I’ve been kind of harsh on you and your sister. And sometimes not harsh enough. You know it was tough. You two were nightmares.” He chuckled at that. “Seriously, I have a lot of recurring dreams about you two setting my house on fire, but… you’re my kids. And you’re my son, and I suppose that even if I tried, I couldn’t trade you for the world. Wouldn’t, I mean. Wouldn’t.”

Another long pause. It was way too quiet in there. Well, aside from the steady beeping. “I see your friends care a lot about you. They brought you…” Tequila. “Right. I guess I was too hard on that Tom too. I know he means a lot to you but… he’s not a very good businessman. His book was a good read, though. You should check it out. Though… not right now. Not right now.”

What can you hear from your Dad that you don’t already know? “I tried to get a hold of your Mom. She’s a very busy woman, you know. Never wants to talk to me, even if it’s family emergencies like this. Hopefully she’ll get my messages. I wouldn’t count on it, but… she’s always soft when it comes to you two. Not so much me. I guess I don’t blame her. She’ll come around eventually. She always does.”

What can you hear from your Dad that you don’t already know? “It’s awful quiet these days. Without you two in the house. Without you in general, huh? I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss it. If I could go back in time… I’d get it right the next time around.”

What can you hear from your Dad that you don’t already know? Jean-Ralphio felt something brush against his hand, and he held it up in front of his face. His father continued, “I’m not going to give up on you. Just… get out of this soon. It’ll be less awkward for the both of us. You know I love you, kid. Please, please just… get out of this as fast as you can.”

Jean-Ralphio squeezed his hand shut in the open air.“Whoa-ho,” His father said,“That was faster than I expected! Ralph, can you hear me buddy?” But Jean-Ralphio couldn’t reply. Man, he wished he could, but he couldn’t. “...Ah. Well-” You’re never too old for your voice to crack. “Well, take your time. Just… not too much time, okay? I’m not getting any younger.”

And then the phone hung up on the other end.

So, let’s put this in perspective. One day you’re feeling super lonely, so you go see your friend Tom at a party, who promptly throws you to the curb. And then a Prius throws you to the curb. Tragic. Then you wake up in heaven, but everything sucks because your soulmate doesn’t like you, everyone you meet is a huge bummer, and you keep getting phone calls from your friends and family who keep telling you that they loved you or whatever. 

It made sense now, you know? He must be sleeping. But he didn’t know how to wake up. He thought about it long and hard but all he accomplished was perhaps pulling his thinking muscles and getting a little bit upset. Which was a weird sensation in the pit of his stomach, this… upset-ness. Like, what even was that? Anxiety? Depression? He hadn’t noticed any symptoms like that in years, because he hadn’t been off those ‘pills, baby’ in longer than he could remember. Was this withdrawal? Why did he feel so lonely all of a sudden? Or did he always feel like that, and he just didn’t notice?

Never sweat the small stuff. Jean-Ralphio spent his entire life working at 100% all the time, no matter what. High energy, wobbly waltzes from one scene to the next like the remote button was stuck down on ‘episode selection.’ Live fast, die hard. You only live once. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. This is your brain on drugs. 

Success after success. Flushed with cash. Craziest of crazies. Don’t be suspicious. This was really, really honestly too weird, everything just kind of creeping in all at once like a bad trip. But he didn’t have bad trips. Everything was always uphill and smelling of honey, colored like rose-tinted glasses, living in the fast lane. Here, there, everywhere. Around the world in eighty days. 

He felt like there had to be something huge building up inside of him, something he didn’t understand as he sat there alone and depressed under a tree in a damp and dimly lit forest in a land unknown and unfriendly. His breath hitched, why was he breathing so fast? Why was everything so fast? Why was he so lightheaded if he was unconscious? Why was he crying?

So that was what a panic attack was like. Zero out of ten, would not recommend. He just couldn’t stop once it started, you know? He didn’t think it was possible to pent up emotions if all you ever felt was good, but apparently that wasn’t exactly the healthiest of practices. So maybe this made sense, why he was totally sobbing like a stupid idiot, alone in the forest, for what he assumed was absolutely no reason. It went on like that for like, maybe an eternity, he couldn’t really tell. It happened so hard and so fast that he didn’t even notice the footsteps approaching him. 

He looked up, rubbing his eyes with his sleeve, into the near angelic window of sunlight leaking through a clearing in the trees, as what he must have assumed was a heavenly goddess stepped through into its rays. She was a towering woman with the body shape of a glittery gel pen, wearing this pink floral maxi dress which showed just a bit of her midriff, her raven hair blowing effortlessly in the slight breeze. When she spoke, she had an accent. England, probably, but the sexy posh kind. When she spoke, she very eloquently said, “Oh,” And her nose crinkled up slightly, “You look horrible.” 

He looked up at her as if he’d been struck with some kind of revelation. “Whoa.” Was all he could say.

“Are you lost?” She asked, glancing awkwardly around before stepping towards him and giving his head a bit of a pat. “There, there.” Clearly, she was unsure how to approach this situation lightly. 

“Did it hurt when you fell from Heaven? ‘Cause you’re the only- you’re the only Ten I see…”

“Was that supposed to be some sort of come on? Well, I appreciate the flattery, but I am happily committed to my soulmate, Jianyu.” However, there wasn’t very much sincerity to her voice.

“Aw, c’mon, you don’t sound so happy about it. You sound like someone ran over your dog or something. Which sucks, I know, I was run over by a Prius.”

“Oh, how tragic!” She gasped, a hand going to her mouth. “If I were going to be run over by a vehicle, I would at least hope to be run over by a Ferrari.”

“So, spill all the juicy beans about your soulmate. You know, mine’s a buzzkill too, it’s almost like we were made for each other.”

“Well, I was willing to put up with his distant behavior. Being a Buddhist monk who took a vow of silence, I respected his wishes and simply bided my time while he meditated in his private quarters. However, now I’ve discovered… oh gosh, I can hardly say it!” She begins tearing up. “He has a...” Sniffle. “Bud Hole.”

“Whoa, me too!”

“It’s a horrible place, this… Bud Hole. He sneaks down there are plays video games and eats junk food. It’s horribly uncivilized at best, and at worst he was lying to be about being a monk! Who would do such a thing?”

“That sounds like a sweet deal, can I get in on his Bud Hole?”

“If you must.” She stood back upright. “I’ll take you there. But I will warn you, it smells like... Axe Body Spray.” She immediately begins to sob uncontrollably as they walk to her house. 

The basement of the glorious mansion of Tahani al-Jamil was far more alluring than the boujie nonsense of every other floor. Yeah, Jean-Ralphio valued the finer things in life, but for just one moment, and maybe the first since he’d been here, actually felt kind of safe in the Bud Hole of Jianyu Li, a man who he soon learned was named Jason Mendoza. 

Jason Mendoza was not the sharpest tool in the shed. He had a bright, wonderful smile, and kind puppy-dog eyes, but you could see his singular brain cell bounce around his head like a Windows Screen Saver.

“You’re cool, John Ralphio,” Jason said to the ambient sound of John Madden blaring from his flat screen, “You don’t judge me like everyone else does. You’re one of the real ones, dog.”

And you know what? Jean-Ralphio was willing to sink to the level of bean bags and video games, pringles and doritos and throwing pretzels in the air to catch them with your mouth because this was the life he was living all along, underneath the fancy house and the colorful clothes and the pretty boy swag. But Jean-Ralphio liked Jason. Yeah, he liked Eleanor and Chidi and Tahani and Lana and Mark fine and well, but this was the closest to a Tom he had here. Someone who seemed to get him on a level no one else did. Yes, this could be a perfectly fine replacement Tom Haverford… even if he was more of an Andy Dwyer. “Hey - how do you feel going to Applebee’s if we ever get outta here?” He asked Jason, who was drinking Mountain Dew out of a chocolate milk cereal straw.

“Oh, yooooo! I wanna-” He suddenly shouted the next words. “Eat good in the neighborhood!”

Maybe this was Jean-Ralphio’s soulmate.

All this time, Tahani was sadly staring into a bowl of Chex Mix, occasionally and hesitantly picking out the tiny baguettes and whimpering softly every time she consumed one.

Suddenly, the door swung open. 

“Hey, Jason, we need to talk-” It was Eleanor, with Chidi close behind. “Oh whoa, you told Tahani about your Bud Hole? Dude, we had a thing going and you totally blew it!”

“Eleanor,” Said Chidi, “You were literally here to tell Jason that he had to confess to Tahani about his Bud… Hole. Clearly, he already did.”

“It wasn’t hard to figure out, he left his filth all over my home!” She stood up, abandoning the Chex Mix as she did. “I have been wasting my time in paradise alone while Jason was here eating trash and playing horrible video games!”

“Yo, Tahani, baby, I know you’re still upset about it but…” Jason said after downing the remnants of Mountain Dew. “It’s cool now. You don’t gotta be alone no more ‘cause I got a new homie! So like, you’re free to go be soulmates with whoever.”

“Michael told me that the soulmate assignment process was flawless,” Tahani retorted. “You can’t just abandon me for some other man!”

“Hey, hey, hey, hey-” Jean-Ralphio put a hand on her shoulder, gesticulating wildly like he was trying to strike a proposition. “Please, please don’t take this away from me. I’m-” He did the thing with his hand and sang-shouted, “-unbearably lonely!”

Chidi interjected with a tentative, “Oh, wow, um- have you- have you ever thought about seeing a therapist or something?”

Jean-Ralphio grinned, bouncing on his feet as he replied, shoving Tahani away as he did. “Yeah! I saw a counselor three times in the third grade because during a math test - long division, really hard - I kept doing that thing where I made the lead of my mechanical pencil stick out really far and slowly push it against my arm so it looks like I'm injecting something and kept saying to the kid next to me 'Ohhhh! It's heroin!' And then the teacher asked me how I knew about heroin and I said 'My mom told me' and then at the parent teacher conference she recommended I see a counselor because I wouldn't do my work so I went to see the counselor and he recommended I take Adderall which I did but nothing changed 'cept now I'm addicted to Adderall - Why'd I say that?"

“That has nothing to do with this!” Tahani interjected. “This is about soulmates! And Jason is supposed to be mine, not yours!”

This started a lot of commotion in the Bud Hole, but Eleanor was surprisingly calm. She had a pensive look on her face, as if a realization was forming in her mind. All of it absorbing into her mind, she slowly walked into the center of the room, finger to her chin. She thought about it all. How she was stuck in a house she hated. How Chidi was being forced to teach her ethics at the risk of his afterlife. How Tahani was stuck with a soulmate who didn’t attend to her needs. How Jason just wanted to be himself, but couldn’t because he was mistakenly identified as Jianyu Li. How Jean-Ralphio was in the middle of all this, and despite being in paradise, was lonely. She thought about how they argued and fought when they were all together, and suddenly all of the pieces of the puzzle fell together right in front of her. “Holy motherforking shirtballs.” She said.

“What?” Chidi replied, adjusting his glasses nervously, and squeezing through the previously arguing parties to stand next to Eleanor.

“It all makes sense now!”

“What makes sense?” 

Eleanor turned to face the group, gesturing broadly, “We’re in the Bad Place!”


	7. Mom?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mona-Lisa gets a visit from someone she hasn't seen in a very long time. Ben Wyatt receives a very mysterious phone call. Sorry for the long wait. I'm back.

Clink-clink went the fancy wine glasses as they went from cupboard to counter. Glug-glug went the cheap rosé as it went from bottle to glass. Tap-tap went feet as they went from one spot on the cold linoleum floor to another. Chug-chug went the cheap rosé as it went from glass to mouth to throat as Mona-Lisa Saperstein downed what must have been her third glass that night. 

It had to have been a good few days since the accident by now, so maybe it was a little less than celebratory. Her half empty wine glass swished and swayed like she was in a professional tasting and she collapsed onto the couch as if her entirely too tired nearly-forty year old girl body just deflated right then and there. She kicked her feet up on the fuzzy pink ottoman and hit a button on the remote so she could proceed with watching Clueless for the eighty-bajillionth time. She snuggled up into her raggedy, worn-out leopard print comforter she always kept on the sofa because she never had any visitors, and prepared to be lulled to sleep by either the movie or the wine. Probably both. She exhaled this sigh of relief through her nose and closed her eyes. But lately she couldn’t sleep.

She sat down the halfway drank glass of wine on the end table, right next to the growing collection of fortune cookie papers and condom wrappers she kept in an ashtray. She didn’t smoke. Not cigarettes, at least. Sitting upright, she rubbed her face and groaned incoherently, running her hands through her hair, and genuinely feeling kind of shitty. She didn’t know why. She picked up her phone and began scrolling, hunched over in the almost dark living room. 

Mona-Lisa was notorious for being sucked into the ‘gram, and when she wasn’t cyberbullying influencers she was usually just mindlessly scrolling down her feed with a sort of glazed over look in her eyes. Occasionally she’d take herself to the home screen of her phone. She’d hover over the Messenger tentatively before inevitably, periodically now, rifling through her text messages and click on her brother’s name. Well, she clicked on ‘The Worst Brother In the World’ as he was named on her phone. It was kind of disheartening because over the past few days plenty of other people had messaged her their condolences or just the regular kind of messages she always received, and because her contacts were sorted by her most recent messages, she had to scroll pretty far down to actually reach it. In the second or two between clicking it and waiting for the messages to load she would always close her eyes and make a wish. Please let it say he saw my message. It never did. 

She’d sent him a lot of messages over the last few days. In the first few hours after it happened she didn’t even know, and by now she’d done the math on the exact time it must’ve all went down, and figured out what her exact last message to him when he was conscious was. 

The last thing she texted her brother, and the last message he ever saw, was about three hours before the accident supposedly occurred. It read:

ttyl 

That was it. Just four letters. T. T. Y. L. That stood for ‘talk to you later.’ It wasn’t as sad as it seemed on the surface because she did talk to him later on the phone. He called her that night, like an hour before it happened. She was in the car and he called her and he said he wanted to go to Applebee’s or something, but she was in the middle of getting pulled over so she hung up on him. Okay, maybe it was exactly as sad as it sounded, but it didn’t bother her. She wasn’t some melodramatic crybaby. She was a bad bitch. Bad bitches don’t cry, and neither do big girls. And besides, she’d cried about it enough already. Now she was in that ‘normalization’ stage of grief. Not to be confused with acceptance, that secret hidden stage was all about swearing to yourself that this horrible thing is now your new normal and you just have to suck it up. It’s not the same as acceptance. Acceptance meant you were okay. 

Besides, she wasn’t grieving. This wasn’t mourning. Her brother was still alive, which was cool and all, but sometimes she kinda wished he wasn’t. Not in the malicious way, just in that it would kind of easier if he was. Not mentally or emotionally, or maybe it was. When people die you have to cut it off all at once. When people don’t die and they end up like her brother currently was, you’re not really sure if it’s okay to be sad yet or not, or if ‘yet’ is really appropriate. 

Did she think he was gonna die? Well. She didn’t think about it until exactly right now. This wasn’t the first time she thought about burying her brother, because they simultaneously orchestrated a plan to fake his death, collect the insurance money, and book it to Tajikistan to start a casino or get really drunk or something. They got caught while snooping at the funeral, no matter how not suspicious they totally were. But when they were together buying that headstone and the name ‘Jean-Ralphio Saperstein’ was actually engraved into a physical object right in front of her she had a momentary lapse in mindset. She had to think ‘Oh God, what if he does die before me?’ and that little taste of existential dread was something she liked to call a free trial run on her twin brother kicking it before she did. 

Logically, she knew it was likely since he was an alcoholic druggie and men statistically just don’t live as long as women, but in her head it had always been either they invent immortality before they reach eighty, or they go out like they came in. Ten minutes apart. Jean-Ralphio first. Screaming and covered in blood. Life’s a bitch, right? And much like magazine perfume samples and Norton Antivirus, she decided she didn’t want to invest in any more than the free trial. Of course, she wasn’t the one paying for it, her father was. 

All she wanted to do was to wallow in this lasting general upset that only cheap wine could cure, but sometimes when life gets you down you have to look inside yourself and think of four little letters. Those four letters were not ‘ttyl’ though she’d been thinking about those letters a lot in the last couple days, but they were ‘wwjd’ except the ‘J’ was not in reference to Jesus. She didn’t do the Jesus thing. The J in WWJD stood for ‘Jean-Ralphio’ in this case. What would Jean-Ralphio do?

The answer she deduced, because she assumed her brother was infallible (and also the worst person in the world), was to party hardy. He wouldn’t want her all down in the dumps, thinking about these useless platitudes about grief and loss and taking what you have for granted. Mostly because if you twisted his arm behind his back and asked him what he thought a ‘platitude’ was he’d probably answer ‘Those lines on a map, right?’

She turned Clueless off, but turned YouTube on her TV on, and skirted over to flick on the light in her apartment. If she couldn’t party at some club at this hour (not exactly in driving condition and taking a taxi to a bar because you’re too drunk to drive is a bad look) she’d bring the party hardy to her own apartment. She’d dance all her regrets away and everything would be better when she inevitably passed out in a new fun spot in her apartment she had never slept before, which were few and far between. All the way to one hundred percent volume as she clicked on the very first song she could possibly think of which started a little something like this:

Wake up in the morning feeling like P. Diddy. Grab my glasses, I’m out the door, I’m gonna hit the city. 

But with a few more sips of wine the music turned into lines like these:

I wanna take you away, let's escape into the music. DJ, let it play, I just can't refuse it, like the way you do this. Keep on rockin' to it, please don't stop the- please don't stop the music.

Fergalicious def-, fergalicious def-, fergalicious def- Fergalicious definition make them boys go crazy. They always claim they know me, comin' to me, callin' me Stacy (Hey, Stacy).

She’d spilled all the wine by now but she’d belt atop her coffee table along to the words, 

So raise your glass if you are wrong In all the right ways! All my underdogs- we will never be! Never be!

And she’d practically flail to the words. In a drunken stupor she’d belt, 

This girl is on fire! This girl is on fire! She's walking on fire! This girl is on fire!

And with all of the vocal fluctuations of a traditional Saperstein rendition of, well, any song ever written she sang it all with enough passion to fill the entire apartment complex she lived in at about three in the morning, so it was no surprise that somewhere midway through Girl on Fire she heard a knock on her door. She rolled off of the coffee table and quickly muted the television. Her hair absolutely going off in every direction, yesterday’s makeup smeared all over her face, and way too much booze in her system, she opened the door expecting a disappointed landlord or neighbor come to tell her to shut the fuck up. She had already prepared her ‘I do what I want’ speech but she wasn’t confronted with any of those people. She winced, making a low kind of whining noise before eventually coming to the word she was looking for.

“Mom?”

“Hey, Lisa. Bad time?” Mrs. Saperstein (she kept the name) stood in Mona-Lisa’s doorway, looking not a day older than the last time she dyed her hair, a suitcase in each hand and a full attire of slightly disheveled business casual. She invited herself in and took a sweeping glance over the apartment and decided just not to bother. 

“No.” She scrunched her face up in disgust, only sort of processing her surroundings at this current moment. “S’three AM.”

“Well, it doesn’t sound like you were sleeping. I’m in town for a couple of days to sort all of this… mess with your father. Is it okay if I stay here in the meantime?” She gave her daughter this look that firmly read ‘if you say no I’m going to be disappointed in you, Mona-Lisa.’ 

“Moooommmmyyyyyy.” Mona-Lisa whined, reaching her usual high notes. 

“Mona-Lisa, please.” That ‘please’ was a pretty tired one. A likely long-winded motherly speech all wrapped into one word. 

“Uh-huh. I heard… mmm… everything you said, but it’s kind of a big blur in my head right now and I dunno what is going on like, at all, so I’m probably gonna go conk out on the couch now, byeeeee!” And she did move to do so before her mother promptly grabbed her arm, pulling her into a close, brief, but firm hug, which she returned with a little sniffle into her mother’s shoulder. 

Mrs. Saperstein then pulled away after a moment, giving her daughter a good pat on the shoulder. “Now go to bed. We’ll talk about everything in the morning.” 

The morning was spent delightfully hungover, mostly in silence, as Mona-Lisa tidied her apartment (by shoving her garbage into her closet) and her mother mulling over a cup of coffee in silence. Eventually Mona puffed out her cheeks and exhaled a big old sigh, saying something like, “Did you talk to Dad yet?” 

The question was never answered. Both Saperstein women were interrupted by a knock on the door, expecting it to probably be Dr. Saperstein who somehow sensed with his fatherly intuition that the daughter and the wife were currently talking about him. But it wasn’t Dr. Saperstein, and when Mona-Lisa swung the door open with a rather rude, “Whatever it is can we like, not talk about it right now?” Before her eyes adjusted to a somewhat short and bright faced woman. Leslie Knope. In her doorway. 

“Hi! I’m sorry to spring up on you so late in the day,” It was around ten in the morning. “But I just had to stop by to check on-” Leslie however trailed off on her words as she leaned slightly to the side, noticing Mona-Lisa’s mother approaching, a woman she had never met in her life. 

“Oh!” Mother Saperstein said with a smile, “You must be Leslie Knope. I heard all about you.” She shook Leslie’s hand. “I’m Francine, Jean-Ralphio and Mona-Lisa’s mother. I don’t think we met before.”

“Do your children talk a lot about me?” Leslie totally spaced that anyone would have heard about her any other way. Being a mother of three, Leslie was very used to talking to parents who were a little closer to her age with children further from her in age. 

“No.” Francine made a confused sort of expression, both eyebrows raised. “Because your husband is a congressman.”

“Right. I guess when I meet people’s parents it’s usually because they’re kids that are friends with my kids. Or because they’re complaining to me about all the dead rats in the public pool which aren’t even my area anymore, but if you’ve seen any I’ll be happy to bring a net. Between you and me, I would never ever go into that water because Pawnee had to hold a public forum about putting a filter in it. It didn’t pass.”

“Uh, mmyeah, I’m glad it didn’t pass actually. That thing is filled with so much oil and waste that if you threw a match it would light up like a molotov.” Mona-Lisa always did have a slight attraction to flames.“Sooo, why are you at my house? Kind of weird, ngl.” She actually said ‘ngl’ out loud like that.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to go get breakfast food downtown or something. I just can’t shake the feeling I’m somehow responsible for this whole Jean-Ralphio situation so I wanted to-”

Mona-Lisa brought her hand up, smacking her fingers together in the universal sigh for ‘shut the fuck up.’ “Shut your perky lips, Leslie. I am totally sick of everyone going on and on about my jagweed of a brother like ‘Oh, oh, deepest sympathies’ - heck off, biatch. No way you thought he was nearly as tolerable when he was conscious. Like, go jerk off into someone else’s Go Fund Me, Mother Teresa. I don’t need your sympathy or your pity and I definitely don’t need anyone’s hypocritical BS about how cool he was when you all thought he was an obnoxious prick when he wasn’t in a coma… but I do want free food so I’m going to go anyway. brb, I’m gonna go grab my purse.”

As Mona-Lisa disappeared into her apartment, Francine and Leslie were left in silence for a moment, before Leslie said, “Wow. That was really confusing.”

“She does this all the time.”

“Oh, I know. One part of me is really glad she hasn’t lost her sense of… really extreme passion, but the other part of me is very afraid of her.”

“Fear is normal. You know, Lu and I swore there was a five step process you had to go through before you could become friends with the kids. We called it the Five Stages of Saperstein.”

“And what are the stages?”

“Stage one is confusion. Two is amusement. Three is fear. Four is confusion but with a little bit of pity. Five is acceptance.”

“You know, Fran - can I call you Fran? I’m honestly really surprised that you and Dr. Saperstein are so…”

“Normal? Yeah. I got that a lot when they were growing up. Teachers, other parents. Try not to give your kids everything they could ever want growing up, they might end up thinking the whole world’s like that. I just thought they’d grow out of it eventually.”

Leslie Knope was a professional at not addressing the elephant in the room. She was a politician, of course, it was kind of her M.O. “Yeah.”

In a moment Mona-Lisa returned, purse in tow, and door not so much locked but slammed shut, and the three women headed over to the local breakfast food place to catch some pancakes and syrup into their hungry faces.

Leslie Knope was also a professional in another thing, and that was overextending her helping hand. She was the first to push into the swinging doors, and she made sure to make direct eye contact with the table she’d already singled out for them. Why? Well…

“Lu.”

“Francine.”

Turns out she’d arranged for a family get-together. 

“Ohmigosh, why do you guys always greet each other like you’re in a movie?” Mona-Lisa was, for one brief second at the age of forty, sent back to childhood. Mommy and Daddy were fighting again.

“Well! Let’s sit with Dr. Saperstein,” Leslie was ushering them to the table, “Because it really is a huge coincidence that we’re all in the same place and I definitely didn’t call him in advance.”

And so, the four sat, rather awkwardly, at about 10:30 in the morning in the retro vinyl seats of JJ’s Diner, in complete and utter silence. Leslie kept glancing at Mona-Lisa to alleviate the awkwardness of a situation she didn’t even cause.

But it was Lu who spoke first, knife in one hand, tiny little packet of butter in the other. “So… was this about funeral preparations, or what?”

Leslie nearly choked on her waffle. “No, no, no, oh my god, no, I just wanted to apologize for the whole… everything, so I thought I’d get the family together, I-”

“Well,” Lu replied, frankly, and proceeding to butter his toast while continuing to matter-of-factly talk about something so grim, “I just figured Francine called you to mediate some kind of agreement, since I was your sonographer and all.”

“What does that have to do with- no. This is just breakfast.” Leslie was already feeling the heat of a comedically horrible situation. It was like she was City Counselor all over again.

“Don’t worry Lu, I’m sure you’ve got everything handled,” Mother Saperstein replied over the rim of her orange juice, “Since you took care of everything for Jean-Ralphio’s last funeral. You did mean to tell me about that, right?”

Leslie’s attention then went to Mona-Lisa, “Oh my god, your parents weren’t in on him faking his death?”

“Duh!” Mona-Lisa shot back, having been pouring maple syrup on her pancakes for the last minute or so, just like, not stopping. “It had to be believable!”

“Oh my god.” Was all Leslie could reply. 

“Look, Fran, I would’ve called you up for the funeral if you accepted any one of my messages that said ‘Hey, our son’s dead, maybe drive down to Pawnee for once? Spend time with him before he’s in the ground. Maybe you’ll learn a thing or two about him. Like his favorite color, or his job, or his middle name.’” And Lu shot an accusation right back.

Leslie chimed in with a “His middle name’s not ‘Ralphio’?” 

Mona-Lisa was still pouring syrup on her pancakes. 

“Maybe you should have called me. The death of my son isn’t text message appropriate.” Francine Saperstein retorted quickly, though notably neither had even raised their voices. They were saying such accusatory, antagonistic things to one another, but neither even looked up from their breakfast. 

Mona-Lisa began drinking the maple syrup from the nozzle like a shot.

“Your son?” Lu questioned right back.

“Hey, guys… look!” Leslie swiftly arranged the bacon and eggs onto her waffle and turned the plate up so everyone could see. “It’s a smiley face! That’s so cute!”

Mona-Lisa slammed the maple syrup onto the table, wiping her mouth with her sleeve.

“Yes, my son. I’m the one who held these nightmares in my stomach for nine months! And look how good you took care of them. One’s in a coma, the other one’s sleeping on her couch.”

“They’re grown adults, Francine, it’s none of my business where they’re sleeping.”

Mona-Lisa stood up from her seat.

“That’s not what you said when you let them move back in after that Entertainment-Whatever fell through. I thought you said - and I quote - ‘putting your foot down’?” 

“First I’m neglecting them, next I’m too nice? Which is it, Francine?”

“You know well enough that both are totally possible. You enable them in all their habits - the drugs, the alcohol, both of them are alcoholics - did you know that? Who was getting Ralph the Adderall when he figured out it wasn’t working for him? Who kept stocking the liquor cabinets? Maybe if you paid attention to them they wouldn’t both be-” 

Mona-Lisa made a large, sweeping motion with her arms, and pushed every single thing on that table to the ground. After which point she silently walked away, not even making eye contact with anyone at the table, and exited stage left right out of JJ’s door.

“Did we say something?” Dr. Saperstein asked after a prolonged moment of silence.

Leslie knew that Mona-Lisa could be pretty volatile when she was upset, so before going outside to talk to her (since she suspected she wouldn’t go far) she got up from the table without a word to the Saperstein parents and dialed a number on her phone. “Ben?”

“Yeah?”

“It didn’t go well.”

“Of course it didn’t go well. You really didn’t need to get involved with all of this. It sucks enough already, you don’t need to be fixing marriages too.”

“I know, but I just want to make things better.”

“It’s super not your fault, Les. I already told you, it’s-”

“Jean-Ralphio’s fault, I know. It just feels wrong to blame him in this situation. I feel like there’s a lot more to all of this than I ever thought.”

“No, Leslie, there’s really- ...Oh. You’re talking in like, general- got it, got it.”

“Where are you right now?”

“I’m with Tom, actually. We’re at the park.”

“Why are you at the park?”

“It’s kind of a long story…”

“We’ll talk about it when we get home. I have to go console Mona-Lisa. Talk to you later. Love you so much. Bye.”

Click.

Ben proceeded to pocket his cellphone and returned to the scene unfolding before him. He and Tom were indeed at the park, and it was a hot day in Pawnee, sun shining, birds chirping, and also an entire camera crew set up right in front of him. “Tom, this is crazy-”

“No way, dude, we’re giving the fans what they want! You got the baseball bat, Andy?”

“Got it!” Andy steadied himself with a baseball bat in hand, Tom’s phone propped up on a rock.

“That’s like a thousand dollar phone, you really don’t need to destroy it.” Ben said, ever the voice of reason. 

“Uh, duh, of course I need to destroy it. The super spooky ghost special of Parks and Recreation needs a finale. I’m getting ghost messages. What’dya do when your phone’s got ghosts in it? You smash it. Simple math.”

“Jean-Ralphio’s not even dead. And your phone wouldn’t be haunted if he was. I’m telling you, it’s a glitch. And Parks and Recreation is over. We don’t have the backing for a special episode. You can’t just make… special episodes of things years later. That’s not how it works.”

“Dude, Parks and Recreation was the best thing that ever happened to me besides my New York Times Best Selling self help book, and marrying the love of my life, and this dope pocket square I got that makes it look like there’s a really cool cat in my pocket-” He pointed to the pocket square and indeed there was a tiny calico cat stitched into it. “We can make a new episode whenever we want. Andy - you ready for the swing?”

“Parks and Recreation was a one time thing. We can’t film every day of our lives again. We’re not doing the big stuff anymore. This isn’t documentary worthy. When we were making that documentary big things were happening. You’re just going to look crazy.”

“Then I’ll post it free on the internet! Andy, get ready for the swing!”

“I was born ready, Tom!” 

“Count of three, okay? One… two…” 

Andy swung prematurely, and also swung the baseball bat a little off center, and also directly into Tom’s foot. It would have been hilarious, really, a great physical gag, if they were still making that years-long documentary series that they used to film. Those were the glory days when they could sit in front of a camera and say everything that was on their mind. If Ben had a camera to speak to he would have explained that Tom was totally losing it, or that all of this was not helping, or that there was no such thing as ghosts, but he didn’t, and he wouldn’t, because when you’re forty years old a baseball bat to the foot is a lot less funny than it is on television. 

Unlike the actual documentary, the camera crew did intervene, and Tom hobbled over to a bench to check the damage. Andy shouted something about trying to smash the phone again, but at least three people restrained him from doing so again, and confiscated the baseball bat. Meanwhile Tom’s phone started ringing.

Ben didn’t really believe in any of this paranormal stuff. He didn’t believe in ghosts, and especially not ghosts of people who were still alive. It didn’t sit well with him that everyone was grieving like it was over and done with. But you know, even though he was skeptical, he was curious. Maybe it would be Jean-Ralphio on the other end. Maybe it’d be Lucy saying she’s at the airport ready to get picked up. Maybe it’d be someone else entirely…

Ben picked up the phone, answered it, and held it to his ear. Let’s give it up for option three. There was a voice on the other end alright, and at first he didn’t super recognize it. 

“Yo, what is up buttwipe? Just kidding, I don’t care. I’m just calling to let you know that Jean-Barfio hates you and he actually asked me to give you a message. Hold on- hold on-” The voice was then interrupted by what was unmistakably a long and passionate belch. 

At first Ben didn’t recognize it, but he knew he’d heard it so many times. And it surprised him once it dawned on him, somewhere midway all of that unpleasantness. It caused him to do a little double take. Check the phone, and bring it back to his ear for a second listen.

It isn’t every day you get a phone call from yourself, is it?

Bewildered at the sound of his own voice, Ben replied finally, a bit dumbfounded, “This isn’t Tom. It’s Ben.”

“Nice! A two-for-one! Well, ‘Ben’, if you happen to see Tom anywhere, tell him that Trevor said that Jean-Barfio said that he sucks major dick. Later!” Click.

Well, that was weird.


End file.
